Suddenly he darted out between the horses and, swift as a deer, flashed away through the sage.

“Ketch that kid, somebody,” called out the voice of authority.

One of the riders touched spurs to his horse and, running Nophaie down, reached a strong hand to haul him across in front of the saddle. Nophaie hung there limp.

“Bill,” called the leader, “thar ain’t no sense in hurtin’ the kid. Now you- all wait.”

This man was tall, gaunt, gray- haired, and lean, with the eyes of a hawk. He scanned the sage flats clear to the pillars of stone. Neither Indian nor hogan was in sight. Presently he spoke. “Bill, hang on to the kid. An’ some of you drive the sheep ahead of us. Thar’s water over hyar somewheres. We’ll find it an’ make camp.”

“Huh!” ejaculated the man Bill, in disgust. “Talkin’ about sense, what’s the idee, cap, packin’ this heavy kid along?”

“Wal, it ain’t decent to kill him, jest fer nothin’, an’ it is sense to keep him from gettin’ back home to- night.”

“All right, you’re the boss. But I’ll eat sage if them Indians don’t track us, jest the same.”

“Bill, you’re a bright fellar,” retorted the other. “Mebbe this kid’s family will find our tracks by to-morrow, but I’m gamblin’ they won’t.”

Nophaie hung limp over that horse for several miles before he was tumbled off like an empty sack. The band had come to a halt for the night. Nophaie’s hands and feet were bound with a lasso. He heard the bleating of the sheep, and then the trampling low roar of their hoofs as they were driven off into the desert. One of the men gave him food and drink; another covered him with a blanket. Nophaie’s fear eased, but there was birth of a dark heritage of hate in his heart. He did not sleep.

At daylight the band was off, riding hard to the southward, and Nophaie had no choice but to go with them. Toward nightfall of that long day the spirits of the men appeared to rise. They ceased to look back over the rolling ridges of purple sage, or down the leagues of cedar aisles. They avoided the Indian hogans and sheered off well-trodden trails. Next day some of the band were in favor of letting Nophaie go free. But again the leader ruled against them.

“Reckon it’s tolerable lonely along hyar. We don’t want the kid to be lost an’ starve.”

About noontime one day later they let Nophaie go free, and pointed down a road toward an Indian encampment. Then in a cloud of dust they trotted on. Rough but kind they had used him, unconscious of their hand in his destiny. But Nophaie never reached the Indian hogans. Another party of white people, of different look and voice, happened upon him. They were travelers of leisure, seeing the West, riding across the reservation.