‘Back at the gate--as we turned in--the tracks of our horses!’ ‘Yes, sure, I’ll fix them.’ Then he added: ‘Listen, can you hear me, Bart?’ ‘Yes, sure--’ ‘I’m going to ride on and leave you here. I’m taking both horses--so the rurales won’t stop, but follow me on. I’ll hide in the foothills to-day, and circle back here to-night or to-morrow night.’ ‘I hate to see you go, but you’re--you’re the doctor!’ Bart laughed. ‘About the sorrel--he knows the whip, but goes mad under a spur--just a pointer in handling him--but you know a horse.’ Elbert’s jaw hardened. ‘Thanks, I’ll remember,’ he said. The voice went on faintly: ‘I didn’t miss how you handled the mare!’ ‘You didn’t miss--anything!’ Elbert replied, fearing the other was delirious from his wound. ‘Sorry--you go--’ ‘It’s the only way. Adios, Bart--and to you, Señorita, this--’ He placed two gold pieces on the table, but saw her hurt and troubled look, as she came forward from the wall. ‘You see, I’m leading them away from him!’ he said, as if the point were of great moment to her. Bart’s hand lifted; but his face was cut off by the girl’s bending profile. Queer joy lived in him from Bart’s recent words about his handling of the mare, but a sudden weariness came over him, too, as he turned away. A nicker outside answered his step as he hastened across the broken stonework of the patio. Mamie had never before been left unceremoniously to cool in a yard--in company with a stranger. He led the horses out to the road; no sight or sound so far at least, from the direction he had come. Leaving them standing on the highway, he reëntered the gate and began fanning out the hoof-marks in the yard, using his broad hat. Out through the gate again, he worked until all was clear; then mounted and pushed on, leading the sorrel. Day was brightening among the foothills. The big range he had ridden toward through the night was now intimately uncovered on his right hand; Fonseca, three miles straight ahead, Bart had said. Both horses were pulling toward the creek. They were too hot for a deep drink, but might have a few draughts without harm. Besides, he must replenish his pack-canteen. The sorrel fought to drink his fill. Elbert had to climb into Bart’s saddle to get the big fellow out of the stream. Back on the road again, he followed for about a quarter of a mile, toward Fonseca, before turning eastward to the mountains. He had left a clear trail so far, and now off the road, he began to weave back and forth along the stony waste, following a vague idea to confuse and delay pursuit, being well past the old dobe house. Bart would have done all this better, he thought, recalling how the other, half dead, had not forgotten to tell him to wipe out the tracks leading from the road in through the dobe wall.