The Rangeland Avenger | Page 4

conscience is clear!"
They turned their horses hastily to the hills, and, when the voice of
Sinclair rang after them, not one dared turn his head.
"Partners, for the sake of all the work we've done together--don't do
this!"
In a shuddering unison they spurred their horses and raised the weary
brutes into a gallop; the voice faded into a wail behind them. And still
they did not look back.
For that matter they dared not look at one another, but pressed on, their
eyes riveted to the hills. Once Lowrie turned his head to mark the
position of the sun. Once Sandersen, in the grip of some passion of
remorse or of fear of death, bowed his head with a strange moan. But,
aside from that, there was no sound or sign between them until, hardly
an hour and a half after leaving Sinclair, they found water.

At first they thought it was a mirage. They turned away from it by
mutual assent. But the horses had scented drink, and they became
unmanageable. Five minutes later the animals were up to their knees in
the muddy water, and the men were floundering breast deep, drinking,
drinking, drinking.
After that they sat about the brink staring at one another in a stunned
fashion. There seemed no joy in that delivery, for some reason.
"I guess Sinclair will be a pretty happy gent when he sees us coming
back," said Sandersen, smiling faintly.
There was no response from the others for a moment. Then they began
to justify themselves hotly.
"It was your idea, Quade."
"Why, curse your soul, weren't you glad to take the idea? Are you
going to blame it on to me?"
"What's the blame?" asked Lowrie. "Ain't we going to bring him
water?"
"Suppose he ever tells we left him? We'd have to leave these parts
pronto!"
"He'll never tell. We'll swear him."
"If he does talk, I'll stop him pretty sudden," said Lowrie, tapping his
holster significantly.
"Will you? What if he puts that brother of his on your trail?"
Lowrie swallowed hard. "Well--" he began, but said no more.
They mounted in a new silence and took the back trail slowly. Not until
the evening began to fall did they hurry, for fear the darkness would
make them lose the position of their comrade. When they were quite
near the place, the semidarkness had come, and Quade began to shout
in his tremendous voice. Then they would listen, and sometimes they
heard an echo, or a voice like an echo, always at a great distance.
"Maybe he's started crawling and gone the wrong way. He should have
sat still," said Lowrie, "because--"
"Oh, Lord," broke in Sandersen, "I knew it! I been seeing it all the
way!" He pointed to a figure of a man lying on his back in the sand,
with his arms thrown out crosswise. They dismounted and found Hal
Sinclair dead and cold. Perhaps the insanity of thirst had taken him;
perhaps he had figured it out methodically that it was better to end
things before the madness came. There was a certain stern repose about

his face that favored this supposition. He seemed much older. But,
whatever the reason, Hal Sinclair had shot himself cleanly through the
head.
"You see that face?" asked Lowrie with curious quiet. "Take a good
look. You'll see it ag'in."
A superstitious horror seized on Sandersen. "What d'you mean, Lowrie?
What d'you mean?"
"I mean this! The way he looks now he's a ringer for Riley Sinclair.
And, you mark me, we're all going to see Riley Sinclair, face to face,
before we die!"
"He'll never know," said Quade, the stolid. "Who knows except us?
And will one of us ever talk?" He laughed at the idea.
"I dunno," whispered Sandersen. "I dunno, gents. But we done an awful
thing, and we're going to pay--we're going to pay!"

2
Their trails divided after that. Sandersen and Quade started back for
Sour Creek. At the parting of the ways Lowrie's last word was for
Sandersen.
"You started this party, Sandersen. If they's any hell coming out of it,
it'll fall chiefly on you. Remember, because I got one of your own
hunches!"
After that Lowrie headed straight across the mountains, traveling as
much by instinct as by landmarks. He was one of those men who are
born to the trail. He stopped in at Four Pines, and there he told the story
on which he and Sandersen and Quade had agreed. Four Pines would
spread that tale by telegraph, and Riley Sinclair would be advised
beforehand. Lowrie had no desire to tell the gunfighter in person of the
passing of Hal Sinclair. Certainly he would not be the first man to tell
the story.
He reached Colma