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"Hands up, there!" the newcomer ordered.

Fraser's hand went up, but with his forty-five in it. The man

pitched forward into the sage. The Southerner twisted forward

again, slid down into the dry creek, and ran along its winding

bed for a hundred yards. Then he left it, cutting back toward the

spot where he had lain behind the dead horse. Hiding in the sage,

he heard the pursuit pouring down the creek, waited till it was

past, and quickly recrossed the road. Here, among the cow-backed

hills, he knew he was as safe as a needle in a haystack.

"I had to get that anxious guy, but it might have been a whole

lot worse. I only plugged his laig for him," he reflected

comfortably. "Wonder why they wanted to collect the old man's

scalp, anyhow? The little girl sure was game. Just like a woman,

though, the way she broke down because she hit that fellow."