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STRETCH of barren sand, cactus-barred, haze-blurred with heat; the faint blue shimmer of foothills on the edge of the horizon, and above them grim, gaunt ridges of the mountain lands, rising in giant chaos, steep on steep.

A solitary figure on the edge of the vast salt basin of the desert dragged itself wearily to where the mule team lay panting in the dust, and drawing his sheath knife, cut the traces cleanly at the ends. The animals stared dully at him with glazed eyes, and the Indian, rising to his superb height, scanned the lava sands from under lowering brows. He had driven fast and far across those burning sands, and the mules had paid the penalty of his escape. Far to the left in a haze of blue steel rays lay the Indian reservation, but only the white desolation of the salt depression broke the dead level of the plain.

The pack wagon, left to itself, stood motionless, an ominous portent to the eye, and the Indian, with a last sweeping glance about him, plunged doggedly forward through the brilliant glare.

Within the reservation was excitement, all the more felt because it was surpressed. The older troopers were grimly buckling on their saddles in obedience to the curt order issued to Company A, while the less seasoned men and raw recruits were swearing blindly at a Government which would send out sixty men for a loose Indian on a day like this.

"He'll stop at Pascas all right," vouchsafed Hinton, a keen trailer and sure shot, whose opinions were generally respected.

"Pascas be blowed," spoke up the opposition man of the troop, Putnam, who opposed on principle every statement that was made, and who spent his time in endeavoring to catch up with quicker minds.

"He will," persisted Hinton. "That girl-what's her name? Altoonah-she's down there, and Eagle Wind knows it. Mighty fine girl she was, too; Eagle Wind's just loco to see her," he added in lower tones.

"Who are you talking about? That girl Altoonah?" gruffly asked a third man, turning in his saddle as he cantered easily by. "She's going to be married-Kirkham down at the post. Know him, any of you fellows?"

The men were in their saddles now, and the mustangs were covering the country with the long, easy lope of the cavalry mount. It was two in the afternoon and the hot, white sand was unbearable.

"Jingo!" exclaimed one of the troopers, slackening his rein as he gazed wofully ahead, where for miles and miles lay the interminable glistening sands. "I wouldn't take this chase again for the biggest Indian in the country. Why not let him loose, anyhow? What's the odds?"

"He'd make mischief," responded the other curtly. "We won't find him, anyway. He's had two days' start. Neat, wasn't it, the way he maneuvered to get to the salt basin. and then walked off?"

"He was A Number 1 up to the time he left," commented Hinton, riding up alongside, "but when he gets to Guaymas there'll be the devil to pay. Wouldn't care to cross Eagle Wind myself just now,"

he ended, smiling grimly.

At seven the captain ordered a halt. Shading his eyes with his soft cavalry hat, he looked long and searchingly in every direction.

Then he waved a gauntleted hand toward the troop.

"Back to the reservation, boys," he said, gloomily.

The little town of Pascas lay quiet in the clear moonlight, when a shadow emerged from one of its narrow, ill-paved streets only to lose itself in the deeper shadow of an archway. Feeling its way cautiously along the rough, adobe houses, the shadow reached a point where it wavered, hesitated, stopped. The musical tinkle of a guitar was audible, and close at hand the shadow, suddenly developing into a muscular, brawny-limbed Indian, heard voices. He melted into the blackness of a projection as Kirkham and the girl, a supple halfbreed with haunting eyes of Indian fire, passed him.

Kirkham's careless glance swept the shadows on either side, but the girl's eyes sought his and he failed to see the Indian standing like a lone sentinel of Fate in the inner circle of the dark, nor did he observe the backward glance of the girl even while her hand trembled in his. Altoonah suddenly paused.

"Seem like some one listen," she said softly, with a straight backward glance into the darkness.

Kirkham laughed easily. He was a tall, broad-shouldered fellow, a favorite with his troop and the admiration and envy of every girl in Guaymas. His unfailing truthfulness and sincerity had won for him the title of "Old Honesty" among his men, and these qualities had found their complement in the grave, simple dignity of the Indian girl whom his laughing, cordial ways had won.

When Kirkham and the girl had passed out of hearing the hidden shadow drifted noiselessly toward the open spaces of the plain. For

a little while the figure was visible crossing the sand dunes that at intervals broke the expanse, but when the moon, emerging from behind a passing cloud, cast her clear light over the treeless solitude, the vast plain lay white and silent for miles.

Three months later, two hunters were tracking their way through the range of mountains that bordered the desert waste. They had been four days on the trail of a puma, which had fled through canyon and gully and through the tortuous mountain trails, till, strength and spirit alike exhausted, they sought only for food and shelter.

The elder of the two suddenly uttered an exclamation.

"See here, Kirkham," he said, "some one's been here before us, and, by the old Harry, some one's got that puma!"

He pointed to where a bloodstained trail led up into the winding fastnesses of the mountain ridge. The earth around was torn, and the bushes showed signs of a severe struggle.

"You're right, Havens," he said. "I'm with you," he added, reading the other's intention in his eyes.

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Somewhat revived by this unexpected happening, the two tramped sturdily up the narrow trail. It grew steeper and narrower as they climbed, but as the entire way showed traces of the deadly struggle which had evidently taken place, they felt encouraged at every step, and unheeding fatigue and hunger, gradually approached the mountain's top.

"I'd give a buttin' to know who killed that puma," said Havens suddenly, pausing in his tracks. "Why, Kirkham, there hasn't been big game killed in these mountains for years. You know that as well as I do. It's next to impossible. These mountains were made for hiding places. When old Indian Charley killed that panther three years ago, the whole post was thirsty for more; but did they ever

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get it? No, though every spent every day he could get in these mountains, there's never been a kill shot since."

"Well, by Jupiter!"

They had reached the top, and were staring in stupefaction at a little hollow a few paces to the left. On the rocky ground a solitary camp-fire burned, and on poles and the limbs of trees suspended in a large circle around the fire, were the skins of at least a dozen wild beasts in various stages of preservation, and near the burning embers lay the body of the slain puma with its death-wound yet oozing. Not a sound broke the silence. human being was to be seen.

Not a

"Well!" said Kirkham, smiling grimly, "you're wrong this time, Havens. Somebody's fired a kill shot, and pretty lately, too, I should judge."

Havens nodded. "What do you say to tracking the hunter instead of the game?" he asked laconically. "We can ambush here, if you're good for a siege.

Kirkham frowned. "I don't know," he said uncertainly. "We've passed the time limit; Altoonah"

"Oh, say, old fellow, you're not afraid of your wife tracking you!" laughed Havens, comfortably. "She is all right. Girls of her blood understand these things."

This time Kirkham scowled. "I'll stay," he said, briefly.

They concealed themselves in an undergrowth of scrub, a short distance from a huge boulder raising its precipitous front, boldly repelling, a veritable fortress of strength, and laying their rifles across a projecting rock waited in silence as the sun disappeared behind the highest peak in a red blaze of fire.

The slow hours dragged on. Kirkham, about to yawn, felt his arm abruptly seized in a heavy grip. With his mouth half open he turned quickly to where Havens was point

Havens nodded, his eyes glued to the advancing figure, a cautious hand on his rifle.

The Indian advanced into the circle of the camp-fire, and with a satisfie grunt, lay down his burden. The two hunters noted the fine deer, and even in their excitement: g of envy shot through them. agle Wind cast a wary glance about him, and they held their breath. Had he heard some slight sound inaudible to their duller ears? His splendid, muscular figure seemed to crouch cat-like for a spring, and he turned his deep, burning eyes directly upon the bush clump where Kirkham and Havens. lay like statues.

In an instant, the two rifles covered him. Havens had sprung to his feet, and Kirkham had jumped simultaneously. The Indian, his back to the frowning rock, and the light of the dying fire full on his dark features, drew himself to his superb height, and slowly folded his

arms.

One rifle point wavered. It was that of Kirkham. The splendid indomitableness of that unyielding figure, the undying menace in his eye, the lonely fortressed crag, the silence, heavy with threatening issue, caused a tremor of the gleaming barrel, but only for an instant. Kirkham remembered that he was a soldier, and that, when his superior officer commanded it, his duty was to kill. He gripped the stock more firmly, and his eye glanced along the rifle barrel in the sight that had never been known to fail.

Havens, about to demand surrender, heard the slight crashing sound in the bushes just behind, but Kirkham, his finger still on the trig

ger, first saw the slender, moccasined figure gliding toward the hollow.

"Altoonah!"

The word seemed to die in echoes on the air. Havens saw her face, and wondered. It was gray marble, hewed into irrevocable design.

She looked from the two men to the Indian standing beneath the towering crag, undaunted, fearless, majestic in his calm, and through the long centuries a fire leaped swiftly to smoulder in her eyes. Kirkham's voice reached her in sharp command.

"Stand back, Altoonah! Can't you see?"

The rifle. rifle barrels were level, steady. As if galvanized into understanding by the words, Altoonah turned-but she turned toward the rock.

In another instant she was pressing something into Eagle Wind's hand. The Indian's long sinewy fingers closed upon it, and his eyes narrowed. With a tigerish spring, and carrying Altoonah as easily in front of him as if she had been a child, he covered half the distance to the undergrowth, and dashed behind a scrub-oak that stood midway. The two men broke cover, and made a run for the oak. The Indian, disdaining to fly, waited. As Havens came up, a long arm shot around the oak. There was a flash of steel, and Havens grappled with the quickness of thought.

Kirkham, on the other side of the tree, lay prostrate on the ground. Leaping over the rocks to come to Havens' aid, he had found himself pulled strongly down, and a soft, warm body was holding him with

all its strength.

He thrust it fiercely aside, and rose. Havens was engaged in a desperate hand-to-hand struggle with Eagle Wind, who cut, thrust and slashed so murderously with the sheath knife he had so unexpectedly obtained that Havens, unable to get a foothold was thrusting him back against the rock by sheer force of determination and muscle combined. Havens bleeding in a dozen dozen places, and Kirkham, thirsting for vengeance, sprang furiously to his rescue.

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Suddenly the Indian, with a last supple twist of his lithe body, glided like a snake from Havens' grasp, to find Kirkham's angry eyes confronting him. Wtih the swiftness of the wind, Eagle Wind braced himself against the great boulder, and Kirkham saw that the knife hung quivering in a helpless hand.

The rifle rose steadily. Kirkham's finger was on the trigger, when the light form of Altoonah sped across the hollow and flung itself across the Indian's heaving breast.

Kirkham's eyes met those of the girl-sombre, inscrutable. Havens, in the background, watched tensely, feeling that matters had gone beyond his grasp. Simultaneously with the report of the rifle, Altoonah's right hand sped to her breast, and when the smoke cleared away, Kirkham saw two forms, silent still, slowly writhing down the rocky face. Altoonah's eyes met his once more, defiant, inscrutable still, and then the sunset gleams shone redly on the lonely, fortressed crag, buried deep in the silence of the mountains, and the two forms lying calm at its base.