TORN TWO WAYS Steele lay in a shady little glade, partly walled by the masses of upreared rocks that we used as a lookout point.

He was asleep, yet far from comfortable.

The bandage I had put around his head had been made from strips of soiled towel, and, having collected sundry bloody spots, it was an unsightly affair.

There was a blotch of dried blood down one side of Steele's face.

His shirt bore more dark stains, and in one place was pasted fast to his shoulder where a bandage marked the location of his other wound.