He knew that Dale thought his pursuer was Nyland, and that thought gave Sanderson a grim joy. In Sanderson's mind was a picture of Dale's face--of the stark, naked astonishment that would be on it when he discovered that it was Sanderson and not Nyland who had caught him. For Sanderson would catch him--he was convinced of that. The conviction became strengthened when, after half an hour's run, Streak had pulled up on Dale. Sanderson could see that Dale's horse was running erratically; that it faltered on the slight rises that they came to now and then. And when Sanderson discovered that Dale's horse was failing, he urged Streak to a faster pace. In an hour the space between the two riders had become less. They were climbing the long, gradual slope that led upward out of the basin when Dale's horse stumbled and fell, throwing Dale out of the saddle. There was something horribly final in the manner of Dale's falling, for he tumbled heavily and lay perfectly quiet afterward. His horse, after rising, stumbled on a few steps and fell again. Sanderson, fully alive to the danger of haste, rode slowly toward the fallen man. He was taking no chances, for Dale might be shamming in an effort to shoot Sanderson as he came forward. But Dale was not shamming. Dismounting and drawing his pistol, Sanderson went forward. Dale did not move, and when at last Sanderson stood over the fallen man he saw that his eyes were closed and that a great gash had been cut in his forehead near the right temple. Sanderson saw that the man was badly hurt, but to make sure of him he drew Dale's pistol from its sheath and searched his clothing for other weapons--finding another pistol in a pocket, and a knife in a belt. These he threw into some brush near by, and then he bent over the man. Dale was unconscious, and despite all Sanderson could do, he remained so. Sanderson examined the wound in his temple, and discovered that it was deep and ragged--such a wound as a jagged stone might make. It was midnight when Sanderson ceased his efforts and decided that Dale would die. He pitied the man, but he felt no pang of regret, for Dale had brought his death upon himself. Sanderson wondered, standing there, looking down at Dale, whether he would have killed the man. He decided that he would have killed him. "But that ain't no reason why I should let him die after he's had an accident," he told himself. "I'll get him to Okar--to the doctor. Then, after the doc patches him up--if he can--an' I still think he needs killing I'll do it." So he brought Dale's horse near. The animal had had a long rest, and had regained his strength. Sanderson bent to Dale and lifted his shoulders, so that he might get an arm under him, to carry him to his horse. But at the first movement Dale groaned and opened his eyes, looking directly into Sanderson's.