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"Run to earth," he snarled, his lip lifting from the

tobacco-stained upper teeth in an ugly fashion.

The girl ran toward the Westerner and caught at his arm. "Don't

shoot," she implored.

Without moving his eyes from the man on the ground he swept her

back.

"This outfit is too prevalent with its hardware," he growled.

"Chew out an explanation, my friend, or you're liable to get

spoiled."

It was the girl that spoke, in a low voice and very evidently

under a tense excitement.

"He is my brother and he has--hurt himself. He can't ride any

farther and we have seventy miles still to travel. We didn't know

what to do, and so--"

"You started out to be a road-agent and he took a pot-shot at the

first person he saw. I'm surely obliged to you both for taking so

much interest in me, or rather in my team. Robbery and murder are

quite a family pastime, ain't they?"