our whole side open with that knife!"

Hodge struck a light and bent over the man who lay in the shadow. When
the match burned out in his fingers he dropped it and stepped out to
join Merriwell, who had picked up the dog and carried the creature into
the open air.

Bart found Merry sitting on the ground, with the dog in his arms. Boxer
had been cut in a terrible manner, and was bleeding in a way that
plainly told his end was near.

"Oh, the wretch!" choked Merry, in a husky voice. "Oh, the wretch who
did this! He ought to be hanged!"

"No need of hanging for him," said Hodge. "He'll be beyond that in less
than three minutes."

"You mean----"

"He's pretty near dead now. Boxer's teeth found his jugular vein."

"Who was it, Bart?"

"The fellow who made the row in Schlitzenheimer's saloon."

"Gentle Bob?"

"Yes."

"One of Cimarron Bill's hired tools, or I am mistaken! He followed us
here and tried to creep in on us with that knife, meaning to finish the
job at which he failed in town. Boxer saved us. Good old Boxer! Poor old
Boxer!"

The dog whined a little on hearing this name from Frank's lip's, and
feebly wagged his tail. The moonlight showed his eyes turned toward
Merry's face.

"Is it so bad there's no show for him?" asked Hodge, in genuine
distress.

"No show!" sobbed Frank. "He's finished, Bart! It's a shame! The most
knowing dog in the whole world! And he has to die like this, killed by a
human being that is more of a beast than he!"

"It's a shame!" said Bart.

The dog licked Frank's hand. Merry bowed his head, and tears started
from his eyes.

"Poor Boxer!" he choked. "Boxer, we have to part here. You're going to
another country, where I must follow in time. It's all up with you. You
may find your first master over there; but he'll never love you more
than I have. Good-by, Boxer!"

The dog uttered a whine. And so his life ended in Frank's arms, with the
moonlight falling on them and the stillness of the Arizona night all
around.

Hodge entered the hut, only to come forth, bringing the blankets and
looking 