The ground rose and struck him. And now there
fell upon him a great and wonderful peace -- and
a blank -- then a voice, a familiar voice, and he
drifted into unconsciousness.

He was wakened by a fiery liquid in his throat.
He slowly opened his eyes. He saw men and
horses, many of them, standing or reclining in
small groups. He saw them between the legs of
a group immediately around him -- men gazing
down at him pitifully. As he lay thus dazed he
heard the familiar voice again. It was sounding
his name. He struggled to his feet. Steadying
himself against his dizziness, he looked
curiously at the young man standing before
him. And suddenly he recognized him. This
was his' young master with the white around his
arm and neck -- the young man who had ridden
him into the Mexican settlement, and who had
been so good to him there, giving him generous
quantities of alfalfa. He -- But the voice was
sounding again.

"You poor dumb brute!" said Stephen, quietly;
and Pat liked the petting he received. "You've
just come through hell! But -- but if they get you
again -- anywhere, friend of mine -- they'll wade
through hell themselves to do it." He was silent.
"Pat, old boy," he concluded, finally, "you're
going back home! I -- I'm through!"

A strange thing took place in Pat. Hearing
this voice now, and seeing the owner of it, though
he had seen him and heard his voice many times
just before this last heartbreaking task under a

[[254]]

p253 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p254w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p255

v?