Part 24 (1/2)

A rider had galloped forward and was dismounting close to the river. He took shelter behind a boulder.

Billie swept with a glance the plain to their right. A group of hors.e.m.e.n was approaching. ”More good citizens comin' to be in at the finish of this man hunt. They ought to build a grand stand an' invite the whole town,” he said sardonically.

A water-gutted arroyo broke the line of liver-bank. Jim, who was limping heavily, stopped and examined it.

”Let's stay here, Billie, an' fight it out. No use foolin' ourselves.

We're trapped. Might as well call for a showdown here as anywhere.”

Prince nodded. ”Suits me. We'll make our stand right at the head of the arroyo.” He turned abruptly to the girl. ”It's got to be good-bye here, Miss Lee.”

”That's whatever, littlest pilgrim,” agreed Clanton promptly. ”If you get a chance send word to Webb an' tell him how it was with us.”

Her lip trembled. She knew that in the shadow of the immediate future red tragedy lurked. She had done her best to avert it and had failed. The very men she was trying to save had dismissed her.

”Must I go?” she begged.

”You must, Miss Lee. We're both grateful to you. Don't you ever doubt that!” Billie said, his earnest gaze full in hers.

The girl turned away and went up through the sand, her eyes filmed with tears so that she could not see where she was going. The two men entered the arroyo. Before they reached the head of it she could hear the crack of exploding rifles. One of the men across the river was firing at them and they were throwing bullets back at him. She wondered, s.h.i.+vering, whether it was her father.

It must have been a few seconds later that she heard the joyous ”Eee-yip-eee!” of Prince. Almost at the same time a rider came splas.h.i.+ng through the shallow water of the river toward her.

The man was her father. He swung down from the saddle and s.n.a.t.c.hed her into his arms. His haggard face showed her how anxious he had been. She began to sob, overcome, perhaps, as much by his emotion as her own.

”I'll blacksnake the condemned fool that set fire to the prairie!” he swore, gulping down a lump in his throat. ”Tell me you-all aren't hurt, Bertie Lee.... G.o.d! I thought you was swallowed up in that fire.”

”Daddie, daddie I couldn't help it. I had to do it,” she wept. ”And--I thought I would choke to death, but Mr. Prince saved me. He kept my face close to the water and made me breathe through a handkerchief.”

”Did he?” The man's face set grimly again. ”Well, that won't save him. As for you, miss, you're goin' to yore room to live on bread an' water for a week. I wish you were a boy for about five minutes so's I could wear you to a frazzle with a cowhide.”

Snaith's intentions toward Clanton and Prince had to be postponed for the present, the cattleman discovered a few minutes later. When he and Lee emerged from the river-bed to the bank above, the first thing he saw was a group of cowpunchers shaking hands gayly with the two fugitives. His jaw dropped.

”Where in Mexico did they come from?” he asked himself aloud.

”I expect they're Webb's riders,” his daughter answered with a little sob of joy. ”I thought they'd never come.”

”You thought.... How did you know they were comin'?”

”Oh, I sent for them,” The girl's dark eyes met his fearlessly. A flicker of a smile crept into them. ”I've had the best of you all round, dad.

You'd better make that two weeks on bread and water.”

Wallace Snaith gathered his forces and retreated from the field of battle. A man on a spent horse met him at his own gate as he dismounted.

He handed the cattleman a note.

On the sheet of dirty paper was written:

The birds you want are nesting in a dugout on the river four miles below town. You got to hurry or they'll be flown.

J.Y.