A half moon was in the sky, lighting the desert with ghostly radiance, and as he scrambled up to look he saw a boy on a white mule, riding in with a canteen held out. Not a word was spoken but as he gurgled down the water he rolled his eyes and gazed at his rescuer. The boy was slim and vigorous, stripped down to sandals and bib overalls; and conspicuously on his hip he carried a heavy pistol which he suddenly hitched to the front. "That's enough, now," he said, "you give me back that canteen." And when the man refused he snatched it from his lips and whipped out his ready gun. "Don't you grab me," he warned, "or I'll fill you full of lead. You've had enough, I tell you!" For a moment the man faced him as if crouching for a spring; and then his legs failed him and he sank to the ground, at which the boy dropped down and stooped over him. "Lie still," he said, "and I'll bathe your face--I was afraid you were crazy with the heat." "That's all right, kid," muttered the man, "you're right on the job. Say, gimme another drink." "In a minute--well, just a little one! Now, lie down here in the sand and try to go to sleep." He moistened a big handkerchief and sopped water on his head and over his heaving chest, and after a few drinks the big frame relaxed and the man lay sleeping like a child. But in his dreams he was still lost and running across the desert, he started and twitched his arms; and then he began to mutter and fumble in the sand until at last he sat up with a jerk. "Where's that rock?" he demanded, "by grab, she's half gold--I'm going to take it and bash out his brains!" He rose to his knees and scrambled about and the boy dropped his hand to his gun. "I'm going to _kill_ him!" raved the man, "the danged old lizard-herder--he went off and left me to die!" He felt about in the dirt and grabbed up the chunk of quartz, which he had lost in his last delirium. "Look at _that_!" he exclaimed thrusting it out to the boy, "the richest danged quartz in the world! I've got a ledge of it, kid, enough to make us both rich--and John Calhoun never forgets a friend! No, and he never forgets an enemy--the son of a goat don't live that can put one over on _me_! You just wait, Mister Dusty Rhodes!" "Oh, was that Dusty Rhodes?" the boy piped up eagerly. "I was watching from the point and I _thought_ it was his outfit--but I don't think I've ever seen you. Were you glad when you saw my fire?" "You bet I was, kid," the man answered gravely, "I reckon you saved my life. My name is John C. Calhoun." He held out his hand and after a moment's hesitation the boy reached out and took it. "My name is Billy Campbell and we live in Jail Canyon. My mother will be coming down soon--that is, if she can catch our other mule."