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a cost! Had won through and reaped only a disappointment. "It's all in the game," he grunted to himself as he and Chota Lal were climbing back along that dizzy way they had come. He had hoped—with a start he realized that he had come wholly without hopes or plans. He had come for the love of the game alone.

A thousand feet they climbed in a little over a mile, and above them they could see the hillside where wound the path.

"Be brave, thou Little Lion of the Plains," Billy encouraged as they breasted that last steep boulder-strewn slope.

The noise of a rifle sounded above that of the wind; Chota Lal gave an agonized yelp, spun round, and would have slipped down that dizzy slope had Billy not caught him by the arm and dragged him to the shelter of some boulders close at hand.

"What the devil—why, you're hurt, kid," he exclaimed in surprize as he stared at his bloody hand. A flesh wound only, through the upper arm, he found out as he cut away the cloth. Luckily no bones had been broken and no artery severed; the wound, though it bled freely, and was painful, was not dangerous.

"There to the left, he is, behind those bushes, Billee Sahib," whispered Chota Lal, grimacing with pain as Billy tore his own shirt to strips for bandages. "I saw the smoke as I fell."

"Why, you nervy little beggar, grinned Billy in delighted surprize."

"Beggar will I never be again, Billee Sahib, lest I bring dishonor to thee," and Chota Lal smiled faintly.

"So be it. By the bullet that laid thee low, beggar shalt thou never be again, but mine own son forevermore, Chota Lal."

He picked up the rifle again and peered round the edge of the protecting boulder. Again the report and the angry scream of the bullet as it ricocheted from the stone.

"That devil can really shoot, Billy whispered softly to himself as he crawled swiftly downward to another boulder, keeping carefully out of sight of the unknown marksman.

Then ensued a tedious game of stalking between the two. An hour went by. Billy could see Chota Lal lying where he had left him, but glimpse that other he could not. He cursed softly as the sun dropped slowly toward the west. Something must be done. But what?

Chota Lal solved the problem by standing up suddenly with a shout. Billy caught the gleam of the other's rifle, saw him half rise, and then Billy shot swiftly in a panic of fear. Suppose that fellow got Chota Lal! The other's gun exploded, but the bullet went wild, for the brain behind it was done. Billy's steel-jacketed bullet had found its mark. The unknown rifleman half straightened, toppled over slowly and went slithering down the slope head foremost, to drop off that tremendous cliff, his rifle clattering after him as it dropped from his nerveless fingers.

"Hast thou lost thy little grain of sense, thou Son of Eblis?" Billy scolded as he helped Chota Lal up those last steep reaches. Chota Lal grinned—the impudent, carefree grin that had so endeared him to Billy.

"Thou art my father and my mother, oh Billee Sahib. I have eaten thy bread and thy salt. Shall I then forget it? I stood up in sight so that one might show himself to thee. What matter though I died, so thou wert freed?"