THE LODE Weston, sitting down on the pile of gravel, took the hat from his comrade, and the trickle from the brim of it splashed refreshingly upon his hot and grimy face when he tilted it to drink.

It was shapeless, greasy, and thick with dust, and few men who fare daintily in the cities would have considered it a tempting cup.

That, however, did not occur to Weston, but another thought flashed into his mind as he glanced toward the undergrowth behind which the man who had led them there lay.

He lowered the hat a moment and rose wearily.
"A few drops of this might have saved our partner," he said.

"Now he has gone on; may the trail he has taken be a smooth and easy one." Then he drank, standing, a deep, invigorating draught, which seemed to cool his fevered blood and put new life in him.