“He's off at last,” muttered The Worst Bad Man. “It's the blood poison. He's been dyin' since we left Malapai Springs. Listen at him, Bob. What kind o' stuff is he talkin'?--listen!” They bent over The Wounded Bad Man and listened intently, for it seemed to them he was wandering far afield in his delirium. He was. Bill Kearny's body was dying, but his soul was wandering adown the wild and checkered path of his career to its dim and distant starting point. “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” “God bless my father and mother and my little sister--and make me a good boy. Amen!” The Worst Bad Man's face twitched a little “Good Jesus Christ!” he murmured. The words were not a blasphemy. They fell from his blackened lips like a benediction--in his fierce eyes a soft and human light was beaming. “Jesus Christ _is_ good. He's slippin' it easy to old Bill. He's made him a child again.” Throughout the long, stifling day they sat and watched him, and when he became delirious The Youngest Bad Man took the baby in hand, in case The Wounded Bad Man should suddenly become violent. Late in the afternoon when the baby had been fed and wrapped again in the blanket, preparatory to taking the trail once more, the dying godfather rolled over and opened his eyes. They bent to hear his last message. It was almost unintelligible. “It's a Christmas baby--it belongs--in Jerus--alem. Stick it out to--finish--good--boys--don't let--my--godson--die--between--two--thieves-----” They pressed his hand. The Worst Bad Man had the pack ready and slipped it over his weary shoulders. He reached for the baby. “Gimme the kid,” he cried thickly. “I got ten miles left in me yet. I'll see you across the dry lake.” The Youngest Bad Man understood now. He handed over the baby, and together the two godfathers passed out of the shack into the great salt desert... And some time during the night the angels came and led Bill Kearny into paradise. After leaving the cabin The Worst Bad Man, realizing that the next ten miles of their journey across the salt lake offered free, smooth footing, resolved to make the pace while the “going” was good. They were no longer hampered by being forced to suit their gait to that of Bill Kearny, and The Worst Bad Man was resolved to see his godson safe across the dry lake before surrendering. He swayed considerably as he walked, but The Youngest Bad Man strode beside him, with a hand on his arm, and helped to hold him steady. And as they proceeded The Worst Bad Man talked to Bob Sangster. It was a short sermon, evolved, in terse, eloquent sentences, from out the bitterness of The Worst Bad Man's dark past and still darker future.