est　in　the　Yaqui　seized　him　again。　　It　recalled　the　tie　that　existed　between　them；　a　tie　almost　as　close　as　blood。　Then　he　was　eager　and　curious　to　see　how　the　Indian　would　conquer　those　seemingly　insurmountable　steps　of　stone。
  Yaqui　left　the　gulch　and　clambered　up　over　a　jumble　of　weathered　slides　and　traced　a　slow　course　along　the　base　of　the　giant　wall。
  He　looked　up　and　seemed　to　select　a　point　for　ascent。　　It　was　the　last　place　in　that　mountainside　where　Gale　would　have　thought　climbing　possible。　　Before　him　the　wall　rose；　leaning　over　him；　shutting　out　the　light；　a　dark　mighty　mountain　mass。　　Innumerable　cracks　and　crevices　and　caves　roughened　the　bulging　sides　of　dark　rock。
  Yaqui　tied　one　end　of　his　lasso　to　the　short；　stout　stick　and；　carefully　disentangling　the　coils；　he　whirled　the　stick　round　and　round　and　threw　it　almost　over　the　first　rim　of　the　shelf；　perhaps　thirty　feet　up。　　The　stick　did　not　lodge。　　Yaqui　tried　again。　This　time　it　caught　in　a　crack。　　He　pulled　hard。　　Then；　holding　to　the　lasso；　he　walked　up　the　steep　slant；　hand　over　hand　on　the　rope。　　When　he　reached　the　shelf　he　motioned　for　Gale　to　follow。　Gale　found　that　method　of　scaling　a　wall　both　quick　and　easy。　Yaqui　pulled　up　the　lasso；　and　threw　the　stick　aloft　into　another　crack。　　He　climbed　to　another　shelf；　and　Gale　followed　him。　　The　third　effort　brought　them　to　a　more　rugged　bench　a　hundred　feet　above　the　slides。　　The　Yaqui　worked　round　to　the　left；　and　turned　into　a　dark　fissure。　　Gale　kept　close　to　his　heels。　　They　came　out　presently　into　lighter　space；　yet　one　that　restricted　any　extended　view。　　Broken　sections　of　cliff　were　on　all　sides。
  Here　the　ascent　became　toil。　　Gale　could　distance　Yaqui　going　downhill；　on　the　climb；　however；　he　was　hard　put　to　it　to　keep　the　Indian　in　sight。　　It　was　not　a　question　of　strength　or　lightness　of　foot。　　These　Gale　had　beyond　the　share　of　most　men。　　It　was　a　matter　of　lung　power；　and　the　Yaqui's　life　had　been　spent　scaling　the　desert　heights。　　Moreover；　the　climbing　was　infinitely　slow；　tedious；　dangerous。　　On　the　way　up　several　times　Gale　imagined　he　heard　a　dull　roar　of　falling　water。　The　sound　seemed　to　be　under　him；　over　him　to　this　side　and　to　that。　When　he　was　certain　he　could　locate　the　direction　from　which　it　came　then　he　heard　it　no　more　until　he　had　gone　on。　　Gradually　he　forgot　it　in　the　physical　sensations　of　the　climb。　　He　burned　his　hands　and　knees。　　He　grew　hot　and　wet　and　winded。　　His　heart　thumped　so　that　it　hurt；　and　there　were　instants　when　his　sight　was　blurred。　　When　at　last　he　had　toiled　to　where　the　Yaqui　sat　awaiting　him　upon　the　rim　of　that　great　wall；　it　was　none　too　soon。
  Gale　lay　back　and　rested　for　a　while　without　note　of　anything　except　the　blue　sky。　　Then　he　sat　up。　　He　was　amazed　to　find　that　after　that　wonderful　climb　he　was　only　a　thousand　feet　or　so　above　the　valley。　　Judged　by　the　nature　of　his　effort；　he　would　have　said　he　had　climbed　a　mile。　　The　village　lay　beneath　him；　with　its　new　adobe　structures　and　tents　and　buildings　in　bright　contrast　with　the　older　habitations。　　He　saw　the　green　alfalfa　fields；　and　Belding's　white　horses；　looking　very　small　and　motionless。　　He　pleased　himself　by　imagining　he　could　pick　out　Blanco　Sol。　　Then　his　gaze　swept　on　to　the　river。
  Indeed；　he　realized　now　why　some　one　had　named　it　Forlorn　River。　Even　at　this　season　when　it　was　full　of　water　it　had　a　forlorn　aspect。　　It　was　doomed　to　fail　out　there　on　the　desertdoomed　never　to　mingle　with　the　waters　of　the　Gulf。　　It　wound　away　down　the　valley；　growing　wider　and　shallower；　encroaching　more　and　more　on　the　gray　flats；　until　it　disappeared　on　its　sad　journey　toward　Sonoyta。　　That　vast　shimmering；　sun…governed　waste　recognized　its　life　only　at　this　flood　season；　and　was　already　with　parched　tongue　and　insatiate　fire　licking　and　burning　up　its　futile　waters。
  Yaqui　put　a　hand　on　Gale's　knww。　　It　was　a　bronzed；　scarred；　powerful　hand；　always　eloquent　of　meaning。　　The　Indian　was　listening。　His　bent　head；　his　strange　dilating　eyes；　his　rigid　form；　and　that　close…pressing　hand；　how　these　brought　back　to　Gale　the　terrible　lonely　night　hours　on　the　lava！
  〃What　do　you　hear；　Yaqui？〃　asked　Gale。　　He　laughed　a　little　at　the　mood　that　had　come　over　him。　　But　the　sound　of　his　voice　did　not　break　the　spell。　　He　did　not　want　to　speak　again。　　He　yielded　to　Yaqui's　subtle　nameless　influence。　　He　listened　himself；　heard　nothing　but　the　scream　of　an　eagle。　　Often　he　wondered　if　the　Indian　could　hear　things　that　made　no　sound。　　Yaqui　was　beyond　understanding。
  Whatever　the　Indian　had　listened　to　or　for；　presently　he　satisfied　himself；　and；　with　a　grunt　that　might　mean　anything；　he　rose　and　turned　away　from　the　rim。　　Gale　followed；　rested　now　and　eager　to　go　on。　　He　saw　that　they　great　cliff　they　had　climbed　was　only　a　stairway　up　to　the　huge　looming　dark　bulk　of　the　plateau　above。
  Suddenly　he　again　heard　the　dull　roar　of　falling　water。　　It　seemed　to　have　cleared　itself　of　muffled　vibrations。　　Yaqui　mounted　a　little　ridge　and　halted。　　The　next　instant　Gale　stood　above　a　bottomless　cleft　into　which　a　white　stream　leaped。　　His　astounded　gaze　swept　backward　along　this　narrow　swift　stream　to　its　end　in　a　dark；　round；　boiling　pool。　　It　was　a　huge　spring；　a　bubbling　well；　the　outcropping　of　an　underground　river　coming　down　from　the　vast　plateau　above。
  Yaqui　had　brought　Gale　to　the　source　of　Forlorn　River。
  Flashing　thoughts　in　Gale's　mind　were　no　swifter　than　the　thrills　that　ran　over　him。　　He　would　stake　out　a　claim　here　and　never　be　cheated　out　of　it。　　Ditches　on　the　benches　and　troughs　on　the　steep　walls　would　carry　water　down　to　the　valley。　　Ben　Chase　had　build　a　great　dam　which　would　be　useless　if　Gale　chose　to　turn　Forlorn　River　from　its　natural　course。　　The　fountain　head　of　that　mysterious　desert　river　belonged　to　him。
  His　eagerness；　his　mounting　passion；　was　checked　by　Yaqui's　unusual　actins。　　The　Indian　showed　wonder；　hesitation；　even　reluctance。　　His　strange　eyes　surveyed　this　boiling　well　as　if　they　could　not　believe　the　sight　they　saw。　　Gale　divined　instantly　that　Yaqui　had　never　before　seen　the　source　of　Forlorn　River。　　If　he　had　ever　ascended　to　this　plateau；　probably　it　had　been　to　some　other　part；　for　the　water　was　new　to　him。　　He　stood　gazing　aloft　at　peaks；　at　lower　ramparts　of　the　mountain；　and　at　nearer　landmarks　of　prominence。　　Yaqui　seemed　at　fault。　　He　was　not　sure　of　his　location。
  Then　he　strode　past　the　swirling　pool　of　dark　water　and　began　to　ascend　a　little　slope　that　led　up　to　a　shelving　cliff。　　Another　object　halted　the　Indian。　　It　was　a　pile　of　stones；　weathered；　crumbled；　fallen　into　ruin；　but　still　retaining　shape　enough　to　prove　it　had　been　built　there　by　the　hands　of　men。　　Round　and　round　this　the　Yaqui　stalked；　and　his　curiosity　attested　a　further　uncertainty。　　It　was　as　if　he　had　come　upon　something　surprising。　Gale　wondered　about　the　pile　of　stones。　　Had　it　once　been　a　prospector's　claim？
  〃Ugh！〃　grunted　the　Indian；　and；　though　his　exclamation　expressed　no　satisfaction；　it　surely　put　an　end　to　doubt。　　He　pointed　up　to　the　roof　of　the　sloping　yellow　shelf　of　stone。　　Faintly　outlined　there　in　red　were　the　imprints　of　many　human　hands　with　fingers　spread　wide。　　Gale　had　often　seen　such　paintings　on　the　walls　of　the　desert　caverns。　　Manifestly　these　told　Yaqui　he　had　come　to　the　spot　for　which　he　had　aimed。
  Then　his　actions　became　swiftand　Yaqui　seldom　moved　swiftly。　The　fact　impressed　Gale。　　The　Indian　searched　the　level　floor　under　the　shelf。　　He　gathered　up　handfuls　of　small　black　stones；　and　thrust　them　at　Gale。　　Their　weight　made　Gale　start；　and　then　he　trembled。　　The　Indian's　next　move　was　to　pick　up　a　piece　of　weathered　rock　and　throw　it　against　the　wall。　　It　broke。　He　snatched　up　parts；　and　showed　the　broken　edges　to　Gale。　They　contained　yellow　steaks；　dull　glints；　faint　tracings　of　green。　It　was　gold。
  Gale　found　his　legs　shaking　under　him；　and　he　sat　down；　trying　to　take　all　the　bits　of　stone　into　his　lap。　　His　fingers　were　all　thumbs　as　with　knife　blade　he　dug　into　the　black　pieces　of　rock。　　He　found　gold。　　Then　he　stared　down　the　slope；　down　into　the　valley　with　its　river　winding　forlornly　away　into　the　desert。　　But　he　did　not　see　any　of　that。　　Here　was　reality　as　sweet；　as　wonderful；　as　saving　as　a　dream　come　true。　　Yaqui　had　led　him　to　a　ledge　of　gold。　　Gale　had　learned　enough　about　mineral　to　know　that　this　was　a　rich　strike。　　All　in　a　second　he　was　speechless　with　the　joy　of　it。　　But　his　mind　whirled　in　thought　about　this　strange　and　noble　Indian；　who　seemed　never　to　be　able　to　pay　a　debt。　　Belding　and　the　poverty　that　had　come　to　him！　　Nell；　who　had　wept　over　the　loss　of　a　spring！　　Laddy；　who　never　could　ride　again！　　Jim　Lash；　who　swore　he　would　always　look　after　his　friend！　Thorne　and　Mercedes！　　All　these　people；　who　had　been　good　to　him　and　whom　he　loved；　were　poor。　　But　now　they　would　be　rich。　　They　would　one　and　all　be　his　partners。　　He　had　discovered　the　source　of　Forlorn　River；　and　was　rich　in　water。　　Yaqui　had　made　him　rich　in　gold。　　Gale　wanted　to　rush　down　the　slope；　down　into　the　valley；　and　tell　his　wonderful　news。
  Suddenly　his　eyes　cleared　and　he　saw　the　pile　of　stones。　　His　blood　turned　to　ice；　then　to　fire。　　That　was　the