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thirst； leaning on a stone that showed drops of blood。 Queen； too；
had to quench his thirst。 What good； what help； Jean wondered； could
the cold； sweet； granite water； so dear to woodsmen and wild creatures；
do this wounded； hunted rustler？ Why did he not wait in the open to
fight and face the death he had meted？ Where was that splendid and
terrible daring of the gunman？ Queen's love of life dragged him on
and on； hour by hour； through the pine groves and spruce woods； through
the oak swales and aspen glades； up and down the rocky gorges； around
the windfalls and over the rotting logs。
The time came when Queen tried no more ambush。 He gave up trying to
trap his pursuer by lying in wait。 He gave up trying to conceal his
tracks。 He grew stronger or； in desperation； increased his energy；
so that he redoubled his progress through the wilderness。 That；
at best； would count only a few miles a day。 And he began to circle
to the northwest； back toward the deep canyon where Blaisdell and Bill
Isbel had reached the end of their trails。 Queen had evidently left
his comrades； had lone…handed it in his last fight； but was now trying
to get back to them。 Somewhere in these wild； deep forest brakes the
rest of the Jorth faction had found a hiding place。 Jean let Queen
lead him there。
Ellen Jorth would be with them。 Jean had seen her。 It had been his
shot that killed Colter's horse。 And he had withheld further fire
because Colter had dragged the girl behind him； protecting his body
with hers。 Sooner or later Jean would come upon their camp。 She would
be there。 The thought of her dark beauty； wasted in wantonness upon
these rustlers； added a deadly rage to the blood lust and righteous
wrath of his vengeance。 Let her again flaunt her degradation in his
face and； by the God she had forsaken； he would kill her； and so end
the race of Jorths！
Another night fell； dark and cold； without starlight。 The wind moaned
in the forest。 Shepp was restless。 He sniffed the air。 There was a
step on his trail。 Again a mournful； eager； wild； and hungry wolf cry
broke the silence。 It was deep and low； like that of a baying hound；
but infinitely wilder。 Shepp strained to get away。 During the night；
while Jean slept； he managed to chew the cowhide leash apart and run off。
Next day no dog was needed to trail Queen。 Fog and low…drifting clouds
in the forest and a misty rain had put the rustler off his bearings。
He was lost； and showed that he realized it。 Strange how a matured man；
fighter of a hundred battles； steeped in bloodshed； and on his last
stand； should grow panic…stricken upon being lost！ So Jean Isbel read
the signs of the trail。
Queen circled and wandered through the foggy； dripping forest until he
headed down into a canyon。 It was one that notched the Rim and led down
and down； mile after mile into the Basin。 Not soon had Queen discovered
his mistake。 When he did do so； night overtook him。
The weather cleared before morning。 Red and bright the sun burst out
of the east to flood that low basin land with light。 Jean found that
Queen had traveled on and on； hoping； no doubt； to regain what he had
lost。 But in the darkness he had climbed to the manzanita slopes instead
of back up the canyon。 And here he had fought the hold of that strange
brush of Spanish name until he fell exhausted。
Surely Queen would make his stand and wait somewhere in this devilish
thicket for Jean to catch up with him。 Many and many a place Jean would
have chosen had he been in Queen's place。 Many a rock and dense thicket
Jean circled or approached with extreme care。 Manzanita grew in patches
that were impenetrable except for a small animal。 The brush was a few
feet high； seldom so high that Jean could not look over it； and of a
beautiful appearance； having glossy； small leaves； a golden berry； and
branches of dark…red color。 These branches were tough and unbendable。
Every bush； almost； had low branches that were dead； hard as steel；
sharp as thorns； as clutching as cactus。 Progress was possible only
by endless detours to find the half…closed aisles between patches；
or else by crashing through with main strength or walking right over
the tops。 Jean preferred this last method； not because it was the
easiest； but for the reason that he could see ahead so much farther。
So he literally walked across the tips of the manzanita brush。 Often
he fell through and had to step up again； many a branch broke with him；
letting him down； but for the most part he stepped from fork to fork；
on branch after branch； with balance of an Indian and the patience of
a man whose purpose was sustaining and immutable。
On that south slope under the Rim the sun beat down hot。 There was no
breeze to temper the dry air。 And before midday Jean was laboring；
wet with sweat； parching with thirst； dusty and hot and tiring。
It amazed him； the doggedness and tenacity of life shown by this
wounded rustler。 The time came when under the burning rays of the sun
he was compelled to abandon the walk across the tips of the manzanita
bushes and take to the winding； open threads that ran between。 It would
have been poor sight indeed that could not have followed Queen's
labyrinthine and broken passage through the brush。 Then the time
came when Jean espied Queen； far ahead and above； crawling like a
black bug along the bright…green slope。 Sight then acted upon Jean
as upon a hound in the chase。 But he governed his actions if he
could not govern his instincts。 Slowly but surely he followed the
dusty； hot trail； and never a patch of blood failed to send a thrill
along his veins。
Queen； headed up toward the Rim； finally vanished from sight。 Had he
fallen？ Was he hiding？ But the hour disclosed that he was crawling。
Jean's keen eye caught the slow moving of the brush and enabled him
to keep just so close to the rustler； out of range of the six…shooters
he carried。 And so all the interminable hours of the hot afternoon
that snail…pace flight and pursuit kept on。
Halfway up the Rim the growth of manzanita gave place to open； yellow；
rocky slope dotted with cedars。 Queen took to a slow…ascending ridge
and left his bloody tracks all the way to the top； where in the
gathering darkness the weary pursuer lost them。
Another night passed。 Daylight was relentless to the rustler。 He could
not hide his trail。 But somehow in a desperate last rally of strength
he reached a point on the heavily timbered ridge that Jean recognized
as being near the scene of the fight in the canyon。 Queen was nearing
the rendezvous of the rustlers。 Jean crossed tracks of horses； and then
more tracks that he was certain had been made days past by his own party。
To the left of this ridge must be the deep canyon that had frustrated
his efforts to catch up with the rustlers on the day Blaisdell lost his
life； and probably Bill Isbel； too。 Something warned Jean that he was
nearing the end of the trail； and an unaccountable sense of imminent
catastrophe seemed foreshadowed by vague dreads and doubts in his
gloomy mind。 Jean felt the need of rest； of food； of ease from the
strain of the last weeks。 But his spirit drove him implacably。
Queen's rally of strength ended at the edge of an open； bald ridge that
was bare of brush or grass and was surrounded by a line of forest on
three sides； and on the fourth by a low bluff which raised its gray
head above the pines。 Across this dusty open Queen had crawled；
leaving unmistakable signs of his condition。 Jean took long survey
of the circle of trees and of the low； rocky eminence； neither of which
he liked。 It might be wiser to keep to cover； Jean thought； and work
around to where Queen's trail entered the forest again。 But he was
tired； gloomy； and his eternal vigilance was failing。 Nevertheless；
he stilled for the thousandth time that bold prompting of his vengeance
and； taking to the edge of the forest； he went to considerable pains to
circle the open ground。 And suddenly sight of a man sitting back
against a tree halted Jean。
He stared to make sure his eyes did not deceive him。 Many times stumps
and snags and rocks had taken on strange resemblance to a standing or
crouching man。 This was only another suggestive blunder of the mind
behind his eyeswhat he wanted to see he imagined he saw。 Jean glided
on from tree to tree until he made sure that this sitting image indeed
was that of a man。 He sat bolt upright； facing back across the open；
hands resting on his kneesand closer scrutiny showed Jean that he
held a gun in each hand。
Queen！ At the last his nerve had revived。 He could not crawl any
farther； he could never escape； so with the courage of fatality he
chose the open； to face his foe and die。 Jean had a thrill of
admiration for the rustler。 Then he stalked out from under the
pines and strode forward with his rifle ready。
A watching man could not have failed to espy Jean。 But Queen never
made the slightest move。 Moreover； his stiff； unnatural position
struck Jean so singularly that he halted with a muttered exclamation。
He was now about fifty paces from Queen； within range of those small
guns。 J