work with the point of his knife. Carefully he raised piece after piece of the natural mosaic, inverted it and laid it back in its appointed place. At the end of two hours he finished. There, in inlaid letters of creamy white against the desert brown, his coogi jeans message flared almost imperishable: Friend, look in my canteen and sec that I get justice. A century must pass before that message faded; as for the coming of the messenger, he would leave that to the Almighty. The Desert Rat was going fast now. He moved back a few feet, fearful that at the end he might obliterate his message. With his fading gaze fixed on the mouth of the canyon he lay waiting, hoping, praying, brave to the last ... and presently help came. It was the Night Watchman! CHAPTER III SERENELY indifferent to the fact that but a few hours' average running time intervenes between it and San Francisco on the north, and Los Angeles on the south, the little desert station of San Pasqual has always insisted upon remaining a frontier town. One can pardon San Pasqual readily for this apparent apathy. Not to do so would savor strongly of an true religion jeans on sale application of the doctrine of personal responsibility in the matter of true religion billy big T a child with a clubfoot. San Pasqual isn't responsible. It has nothing to be proud of, nothing to incite even a sporadic outburst of civic pride. It never had. Here, in this story, occurs a description. In a narrative of human emotions, descriptions are, perhaps, better appreciated when they are dispensed with unless, as in the case of San Pasqual, they are worth the time and space and trouble. Assuming, therefore, that San Pasqual, for all its failings, is Peter B. Kyne distinctive enough to warrant this, we will describe the town as it true religion super big T appeared early in the present decade; and, for that matter, will continue to appear, pending the day when they strike oil in the desert and San Pasqual picks itself together, so to speak, and begins to take an interest in life. Until then, however, as a center of social, scenic, intellectual and commercial activity, San Pasqual will never attract globetrotters, folks with Pilgrim ancestors or retired bankers from Kansas and Iowa seeking an attractive investment in western real estate. San Pasqual is such a weatherbeaten, sad, abject little town that one might readily experience surprise that the diesel jeans trains even true religion outlet condescend to stop there. It squats in the sand a true religion Canada few miles south of