He could not walk the distance even if he knew the
way, nor could he hope to mount the victorious
stallion, should Pat be defeated, because only one
man had done that, and that man lay dead beside
him. The thought of being alone in the
desert with the dead struck chill to his heart.
He recalled his first ride with Helen, and her tales
of men and horses in the early days, and what
it meant to a man to have his horse stolen from
him. It was all clear to him now, and he clenched
his sound hand till the nails cut the flesh. Unless
Pat fought a successful fight he was doomed to
die of thirst, even if the stallion did not attack
him. As he looked at Pat, his only hope in this
dread situation, he prayed harder and more fervently
than before that his champion would win.

Pat thrilled with the sense of coming battle,
but he did not fear this horse. He remembered
that once he had struck down a rival, and before
that he had twice given successful battle to men -- to
a finish with the Mexican hostler, another time
when he had brought his enemy to respect and
consider him. Therefore he.had no reason to
fear this horse, even though he saw in the gray's
splendid figure an enemy to be carefully considered.
But not for an instant did Pat relax. For
this was a crafty foe, as shown by his sudden halt,
which Pat knew was the prelude to a swift attack.
So he watched with keen alertness the flattened
ears, the lashing tail -- his own muscles held rigid,
waiting.

The gray began a cautious approach. He put

[[272]]

p271 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p272w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p273

v?