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Concealed from above by the overhang of the cliff； the trail became increasingly dangerous。 At one point there was only slanting rock but the big red horse scrambled across while Jordan sat his saddle only dimly aware of what was happening。
Suddenly； after more than a half…mile of trail； it ended in a half…acre of shelf almost entirely overhung by the cliff and entirely invisible from above。 The outer edge was skirted by manzanita and juniper that gave no indication from across the canyon of the space that lay behind it。 Here； concealed from all directions； was an isolated ledge 。。。 and at one side of the ledge； a ruin。
Without waiting to be guided； the horse walked toward the ruin with quickening footsteps 。。。 and Jordan heard the sound of running water。
Almost falling from his horse； he staggered to the basin where clear cold water trickled from a crack in the rock to fall into a rock basin some dozen feet across。 When he had drunk deep of the water he rolled on his back and tried desperately to think。
Wrinkling his brow against the dull throb of pain； he went back over his trail in his mind。 Not even Jacob Lantz would find it a simple one。 Much of the mesa had been bare rock； nor was there any indication from above of this place he had found。 Nor would any man in his right mind attempt the trail to it。
He drank； and drank again； feeling the slow penetration of the cold water through all his thirst…starved tissues。 After a time he stumbled to his feet and stripped saddle and bridle from the horse； picketing it on the thick grass。
He would need a fire 。。。 dry sticks that would make no smoke。 The ruin would shield the reflection。 He must have hot water to bathe his wound。 He must 。。。
A long time later he opened his eyes into darkness。 Listening； he could hear no sound but the trickle of water。 The night was cold。
Crawling to his saddle； he fumbled at the knots and finally loosened them enough to get at his blanket roll。 Wrapping himself in his blankets； he lay still； his head feeling like a great half…empty cask in which his brains seemed to slosh around like water。 His lips were cracked by fever 。。。 outside a lone star hung over the rim of a far cliff。
Through the fog of his delirium Jordan listened to the trickle of water。 He must be careful 。。。 careful。 His enemies might be far away but in the still of a clear desert night； sound carries。 And by daylight they would be all around； thirty or forty belted blood…hungry men。 And at dawn he must be watching that thread of trail； rifle in hand。
Pain gnawed at his side like a hungry rat。。。 such a little wound but it needed care； it needed cleansing。 His eyes found the lone star above the canyon's rim and held to it and a long time later； he slept。 A pack rat appeared at the edge of the trail； peering curiously at the sleeping man； then went on； wary but unfrightened； to the water's edge。 Out in the canyon a small stone； long poised by erosion； fell into the depths with a faint； lost sound。
On the mesa's top a long wind stirred； moaning among the junipers and fluttering the campfires of the searching men。 A man had been slain and it was the law of their time that the killer must die in turn。 A coyote yapped at the moon； a weird cacophony of sound suspended a moment； then scattered by the wind and then the night under the lonely moon was voiceless and still。 Only the water trickled and the hunted man moaned softly in his delirium and his sleep。
Through the day…long heat that followed the night； Trace Jordan wavered between delirium and a sick exhausted consciousness。 Shortly after daybreak he heard the drum of hoofs overhead and later heard the riders return more slowly。 He got his rifle and lay quietly； waiting。 If they found him； some of them would die。
He had no animosity for these men other than the six who had murdered Johnny。 The code by which they operated was his own but it was his nature to fight。 There was water here and he had two hundred rounds of ammunition。 There was no food； so all he could do was to wait until he starved to death or died of his wound。
He dozed or became unconscious 。。。 vaguely he recalled drinking and bathing his face and his fever…slaked lips。 He remembered getting sticks together for a fire to heat water in the bottom of an ancient jar found in the ruins。 He removed the bandage to look at the wound。 It was ugly and inflamed； frightening to see。
He never succeeded in bathing it。 Somewhere along the line of his planning he lost consciousness again 。。。 when he opened his eyes again his head was throbbing； his side a knot of raw pain。 He wanted water desperately but was too weak to crawl to it。
The first thing he realized was a sense of movement where no movement should be。 He listened； aware of danger； trying to place that faint； mysterious rustling 。。。 petticoats！ But that was ridiculous。
He felt cool now and fortable。 There was a dull throb in his side but some of the stiffness was gone。 His head felt heavy and he did not wish to open his eyes。 Something cool touched his brow and he lay still； afraid it would go away。 He tried to identify the sounds； fearing he was delirious or dying。
The trickle of water； as always。 The horse cropping grass 。。。 a faint wind stirring among the junipers。 There was a smell of sage and of wood smoke。 This was very close but slight。 He kept his eyes shut and tried to place the exact location of his gun。 He had no friends within many miles； so anything here； man or animal； was dangerous to him。
The coolness on his brow went away but he felt fingers unbuckling his belt； moving his shirt aside。 Fingers cool and deft touched the wound and then something forting and warm was placed against his side。
He opened his eyes and stared up at the rock overhang。 The coolness on his brow was a memory but the pleasant warmth at his side remained。 He looked down。
A woman knelt beside him but at first all he could see was a smooth brown shoulder； from which the red blouse had slipped； and a wealth of intensely black hair。
He was delirious 。。。 he had to be。 No such woman could be in this lonely place。 He was hiding on a wind…hollowed shelf in the face of a cliff； miles from human habitation。 And then she turned her head and looked at him。
Her eyes were large and dark； ringed with long lashes； and in that first glimpse he found eyes that were soft with a woman's tenderness 。。。 and then that tenderness was gone and she looked away。 〃How you feel？〃
She spoke abruptly； her tone giving nothing； neither friendly nor unfriendly。
He tried several times to speak before he could make his lips shape the words。 〃Good。〃 And then after a pause he indicated the poultice。 〃Feels good …〃 She gave no indication that she had heard but arose and went to the edge of the cliff where； concealed by the manzanita； she looked into the canyon。 He listened and heard nothing and after a few minutes she returned to his side。
She had built a small fire to heat the water and now she added some tiny sticks to the little flame。 There was no smoke； almost no smell。
〃Nice；〃 he whispered。 〃Nice of you。〃
She looked around sharply。 〃I do it for a dog！〃
And when she removed the poultice the gent