Tresler would have liked to see Diane before going out to Willow Bluff, but reflection showed him how impossible that would be; at least, how much unnecessary risk it would involve for her. After what he had just witnessed of her father, it behooved him to do nothing rashly as far as she was concerned, so he turned his whole attention to his preparations for departure.

He had made up his mind as to his comrade without a second thought. Arizona was his man, and he sent the diplomatic Joe out to bring him in from Pine Creek sloughs, where he was cutting late hay for winter stores.

In about half an hour the American came in, all curiosity and eagerness; nor would he be satisfied until he had been told the whole details of the matter that had led up to the appointment. Tresler kept back nothing but his private affairs relating to Diane. At the conclusion of the recital, Arizona’s rising temper culminated in an explosion.

“Say, that feller Jake’s a meaner pirate an’ cus as ’ud thieve the supper from a blind dawg an’ then lick hell out o’ him ’cos he can’t see.” Which outburst of feeling having satisfied the necessity of the moment, he became practical. “An’ you’re goin’, you an’ me?” he asked incredulously.

“That’s the idea, Arizona; but of course you’re quite free to please yourself. I chose you; Marbolt gave me the privilege of selection.”

“Wal, guess we’d best git goin’. Willow Bluff station’s fair to decent, so we’ll only need our blankets an’ grub – an’ a tidy bunch of ammunition. Guess I’ll go an’ see Teddy fer the rations.”

He went off in a hurry. Tresler looked after him. It was good to be dealing with such a man after those others, Jake and the rancher. Arizona’s manner of accepting his selection pleased him. There was no “yes” or “no” about it: no argument. A silent acceptance and ready thought for their needs. A thorough old campaigner. A man to be relied on in emergency – a man to be appreciated.

In two hours everything was in readiness, Tresler contenting himself with a reassuring message to Diane through the medium of Joe.

They rode off. Jezebel was on her good behavior, and Arizona’s mount kept up with her fast walk by means of his cowhorse amble. As they came to the ford, Tresler drew up and dismounted, and the other watched him while he produced a wicker-covered glass flask from his pocket.

“What’s that?” he asked. “Rye?”

Tresler shook his head, and tried the metal screw cap.

“No,” he replied shortly.

Then he leant over the water and carefully set the bottle floating, pushing it out as far as possible with his foot while he supported himself by the overhanging bough of a tree. Then he stood watching it carried slowly amid-stream. Presently the improvised craft darted out with a rush into the current, and swept onward with the main flow of the water. Then he returned and remounted his impatient mare.

“That,” he said, as they rode on, “is a message. Fyles’s men are down the river spying out the land, and, incidentally, waiting to hear from me. The message I’ve sent them is a request for assistance at Willow Bluff. I have given them sound reason, which Fyles will understand.”

Arizona displayed considerable astonishment, which found expression in a deprecating avowal.

“Say, I guess I’m too much o’ the old hand. I didn’t jest think o’ that.”

It was all he vouchsafed, but it said a great deal. And the thin face and wild eyes said more.

Now they rode on in silence, while they followed the wood-lined trail along the river. The shade was delightful, and the trail sufficiently sandy to muffle the sound of the horses’ hoofs and so leave the silence unbroken. There was a faint hum from the insects that haunted the river, but it was drowsy, soft, and only emphasized the perfect sylvan solitude. After a while the trail left the river and gently inclined up to the prairie level. Then the bush broke and became scattered into small bluffs, and a sniff of the bracing air of the plains brushed away the last odor of the redolent glades they were leaving.

It was here that Arizona roused himself. He was of the prairie, belonging to the prairie. The woodlands depressed him, but the prairie made him expansive.

“Seems to me, Tresler, you’re kind o’ takin’ a heap o’ chances – mostly onnes’ary. Meanin’ ther’ ain’t no more reason to it than whistlin’ Methody hymns to a deaf mule. Can’t see why you’re mussin’ y’self up wi’ these all-fired hoss thieves. You’re askin’ fer a sight more’n you ken eat.”

“And, like all men of such condition, I shall probably eat to repletion, I suppose you mean.”

Arizona turned a doubtful eye on the speaker, and quietly spat over his horse’s shoulder.

“Guess your langwidge ain’t mine,” he said thoughtfully; “but if you’re meanin’ you’re goin’ to git your belly full, I calc’late you’re li’ble to git like a crop-bound rooster wi’ the moult ’fore you’re through. An’ I sez, why?”

Tresler shrugged. “Why does a man do anything?” he asked indifferently.

“Gener’ly fer one of two reasons. Guess it’s drink or wimmin.” Again he shot a speculating glance at his friend, and, as Tresler displayed more interest in the distant view than in his remarks, he went on. “I ain’t heerd tell as you wus death on the bottle.”

The object of his solicitude smiled round on him.

“Perhaps you think me a fool. But I just can’t stand by seeing things going wrong in a way that threatens to swamp one poor, lonely girl, whose only protection is her blind father.”

“Then it is wimmin?”

“If you like.”

“But I don’t jest see wher’ them hoss thieves figger.”

“Perhaps you don’t, but believe me they do – indirectly.” Tresler paused. Then he went on briskly. “There’s no need to go into details about it, but – but I want to run into this gang. Do you know why? Because I want to find out who this Red Mask is. It is on his personality depends the possibility of my helping the one soul on this ranch who deserves nothing but tender kindness at the hands of those about her.”

“A-men,” Arizona added in the manner he had acquired in his “religion” days.

“I must set her free of Jake – somehow.”

Arizona’s eyes flashed round on him quickly. “Jest so,” he observed complainingly. “That’s how I wanted to do last night.”

“And you’d have upset everything.”

“Wrong – plumb wrong.”

“Perhaps so,” Tresler smiled confidently. “We are all liable to mistakes.”

Arizona’s dissatisfied grunt was unmistakable. “Thet’s jest how that sassafras-colored, bull-beef Joe Nelson got argyfyin’ when Jake come around an’ located him sleepin’ off the night before in the hog-pen. But it don’t go no more’n his did, I guess. Howsum, it’s wimmin. Say, Tresler,” the lean figure leant over toward him, and the wild eyes looked earnestly into his – “it’s right, then – dead right?”

“When I’ve settled with her father – and Jake.”

Arizona held out his horny, claw-like hand. “Shake,” he said. “I’m glad, real glad.”

They gripped for a moment, then the cowpuncher turned away, and sat staring out over the prairie. Tresler, watching him, wondered at that long abstraction. The man’s face had a softened look.

“We all fall victims to it sooner or later, Arizona,” he ventured presently. “It comes once in a man’s lifetime, and it comes for good or ill.”

“Twice – me.”

The hard fact nipped Tresler’s sentimental mood in the bud.

“Ah!”

The other continued his study of the sky-line. “Yup,” he said at last. “One died, an’ t’other didn’t hatch out.”

“I see.”

It was no use attempting sympathy. When Arizona spoke of himself, when he chose to confide his life’s troubles to any one, he had a way of stating simple facts merely as facts; he spoke of them because it suited his pessimistic mood.

“Yup. The first was kind o’ fady, anyways – sort o’ limp in the backbone. Guess I’d got fixed wi’ her ’fore I knew a heap. Must ’a’ bin. Yup, she wus fancy in her notions. Hated sharin’ a pannikin o’ tea wi’ a friend; guess I see her scrape out a fry-pan oncet. I ’lows she had cranks. Guess she hadn’t a pile o’ brain, neither. She never could locate a hog from a sow, an’ as fer stridin’ a hoss, hell itself couldn’t ’a’ per-suaded her. She’d a notion fer settin’ sideways, an’ allus got muleish when you guessed she wus wrong. Yup, she wus red-hot on the mission sociables an’ eatin’ off’n chiny, an’ wa’n’t satisfied wi’ noospaper on the table; an’ took the notion she’d got pimples, an’ worried hell out o’ her old man till he bo’t a razor an’ turned his features into a patch o’ fall ploughin’, an’ kind o’ bulldozed her mother into lashin’ her stummick wi’ some noofangled fixin’ as wouldn’t meet round her nowheres noways. An’ she wus kind o’ finnicky wi’ her own feedin’, too. Guess some wall-eyed cuss had took her into Sacramento an’ give her a feed at one of them Dago joints, wher’ they disguise most everythin’ wi’ langwidge, an’ ile, an’ garlic, till you hate yourself. Wal, she died. Mebbe she’s got all them things handy now. But I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ mean about her; she jest had her notions. Guess it come from her mother. I ’lows she wus kind o’ struck on fool things an’ fixin’s. Can’t blame her noways. Guess I wus mostly sudden them days. Luv ut fust sight is a real good thing when it comes to savin’ labor, but like all labor-savin’ fixin’s, it’s liable to git rattled some, an’ then ther’ ain’t no calc’latin’ what’s goin’ to bust.”

Arizona’s manner was very hopeless, but presently he cheered up visibly and renewed his wad of chewing.

“T’other wus kind o’ slower in comin’ along,” he went on, in his reflective drawl. “But when it got around it wus good an’ strong, sure. Y’ see, ther’ wus a deal ’tween us like to make us friendly. She made hash fer the round-up, which I ’lows, when the lady’s young, she’s most gener’ly an objec’ of ’fection fer the boys. Guess she wus most every kind of a gal, wi’ her ha’r the color of a field of wheat ready fer the binder, an’ her figger as del’cate as one o’ them crazy egg-bilers, an’ her pretty face all sparklin’ wi’ smiles an’ hoss-soap, an’ her eye! Gee! but she had an eye. Guess she would ’a’ made a prairie-rose hate itself. But that wus ’fore we hooked up in a team. I ’lows marryin’s a mighty bad finish to courtin’.”

“You were married?”

“Am.”

A silence fell. The horses ambled on in the fresh noonday air. Arizona’s look was forbidding. Suddenly he turned and gazed fiercely into his friend’s face.

“Yes, sirree. An’ it’s my ’pinion, in spite of wot some folks sez, gettin’ married’s most like makin’ butter. Courtin’s the cream, good an’ thick an’ juicy, an’ you ken lay it on thick, an’ you kind o’ wonder how them buzzocky old cows got the savee to perduce sech a daisy liquid. But after the turnin’-point, which is marryin’, it’s diff’rent some. ’Tain’t cream no longer. It’s butter, an’ you need to use it sort o’ mean. That’s how I found, I guess.”

“I suppose you settled down, and things went all right, though?” suggested Tresler.

“Wal, maybe that’s so. Guess if anythin’ wus wrong it wus me. Yer see, ther’ ain’t a heap o’ fellers rightly understands females. I’m most gener’ly patient. Knowin’ their weakness, I sez, ‘Arizona, you’re mud when wimmin gits around. You bein’ married, it’s your dooty to boost the gal along.’ So I jest let her set around an’ shovel orders as though I wus the hired man. Say, guess you never had a gal shovelin’ orders. It’s real sweet to hear ’em, an’ I figger they knows their bizness mostly. It makes you feel as though you’d ha’f a dozen hands an’ they wus all gropin’ to git to work. That’s how I felt, anyways. Every mornin’ she’d per-suade me gentle out o’ bed ’fore daylight, an’ I’d feel like a hog fer sleepin’ late. Then she’d shovel the orders hansum, in a voice that ’ud shame molasses. It wus allus ‘dear’ or ‘darlin’.’ Fust haul water, then buck wood, light the stove, feed the hogs an’ chick’ns, dung out the ol’ cow, fill the lamp, rub down the mare, pick up the kitchen, set the clothes bilin’, cook the vittles, an’ do a bit o’ washin’ while she turned over fer five minits. Then she’d git around, mostly ’bout noon, wi’ her shower o’ ha’r trailin’ like a rain o’ gold-dust, an’ a natty sort o’ silk fixin’ which she called a ‘dressin’-gown,’ an’ she’d sot right down an’ eat the vittles, tellin’ me o’ things she wanted done as she’d fergot. Ther’ wus the hen-roost wanted limin’, she was sure the chick’ns had the bugs, an’ the ol’ mare’s harness wanted fixin’, so she could drive into town; an’ the buckboard wanted washin’, an’ the wheels greasin’. An’ the seat wus kind o’ hard an’ wanted packin’ wi’ a pillar. Then ther’ wus the p’tater patch wanted hoein’, an’ the cabb’ges. An’ the hay-mower wus to be got ready fer hayin’. She mostly drove that herself, an’ I ’lows I wus glad.”

Arizona paused and took a fresh chew. Then he went on.

“Guess you ain’t never got hitched?”

Tresler denied the impeachment. “Not yet,” he said.

“Hah! Guess it makes a heap o’ diff’rence.”

“Yes, I suppose so. Sobers a fellow. Makes him feel like settling down.”

“Wal, maybe.”

“And where’s your wife living now?” Tresler asked, after another pause.

“Can’t rightly say.” There was a nasty sharpness in the manner Arizona jerked his answer out. “Y’ see, it’s this a-ways. I guess I didn’t amount to a deal as a married man. Leastways, that’s how she got figgerin’ after a whiles. Guess I’d sp’iled her life some. I ’lows I wus allus a mean cuss. An’ she wus real happy bakin’ hash. Guess I druv her to drinkin’ at the s’loon, too, which made me hate myself wuss. Wal, I jest did wot I could to smooth things an’ kep goin’. I got punchin’ cows agin, an’ give her every cent o’ my wages; but it wa’n’t to be.” The man’s voice was husky, and he paused to recover himself. And then hurried on as though to get the story over as soon as possible. “Guess I wus out on the ‘round-up’ some weeks, an’ then I come back to find her gone – plumb gone. Mebbe she’d got lonesome; I can’t say. Yup, the shack wus empty, an’ the buckboard gone, an’ the blankets, an’ most o’ the cookin’ fixin’s. It wus the neighbors put me wise. Neighbors mostly puts you wise. They acted friendly. Ther’d bin a feller come ’long from Alberta, a pretty tough Breed feller. He went by the name o’ ‘Tough’ McCulloch.”

Tresler started. But Arizona was still staring out at the distant prairie, and the movement escaped him.

“Guess he’d bin around the shack a heap,” he went on, “an’ the day ’fore I got back the two of ’em had drove out wi’ the buckboard loaded, takin’ the trail fer the hills. I put after ’em, but never found a trace. I ’lows the feller had guts. He left a message on the table. It wus one o’ his guns – loaded. Likely you won’t understan’, but I kep’ that message. I ain’t see her sence. I did hear tell she wus bakin’ hash agin. I ’lows she could bake hash. Say, Tresler, I’ve lost hogs, an’ I’ve lost cows, but I’m guessin’ ther’ ain’t nothin’ in the world meaner than losin’ yer wife.”

Tresler made no reply. What could he say? “Tough” McCulloch! the name rang in his ears. It was the name Anton had been known by in Canada. He tried to think what he ought to do. Should he tell Arizona? No. He dared not. Murder would promptly be done, if he knew anything of the American. No doubt the Breed deserved anything, but there was enough savagery at Mosquito Bend without adding to it. Suddenly another thought occurred to him.

“Did you know the man?” he asked.

“Never set eyes on him. But I guess I shall some day.” And Tresler’s decision was irrevocably confirmed.

“And the ‘gun’ message?”

“Wal, it’s a way they have in Texas,” replied Arizona. “A loaded gun is a mean sort o’ challenge. It’s a challenge which ain’t fer the present zacly. Guess it holds good fer life. Et means ‘on sight.’”

“I understand.”

And the rest of the journey to Willow Bluff was made almost in silence.

The wonderful extent of the blind man’s domain now became apparent. They had traveled twenty miles almost as the crow flies, and yet they had not reached its confines. As Arizona said, in response to a remark from his companion, “The sky-line ain’t no limit fer the blind hulk’s land.”

Willow Bluff was, as its name described, just a big bluff of woodland standing at the confluence of two rivers. To the south and west it was open prairie. The place consisted of a small shack, and a group of large pine-log corrals capable of housing a thousand head of stock. And as the men came up they saw, scattered over the adjacent prairie, the peacefully grazing beeves which were to be their charge.

“A pretty bunch,” observed Arizona.

“Yes, and a pretty place for a raid.”

At that moment the doings of the raiders were uppermost in Tresler’s mind.

Then they proceeded to take possession. They found Jim Henderson, a mean looking Breed boy, in the shack, and promptly set him to work to clean it out. It was not a bad place, but the boys had let it get into a filthy condition, in the customary manner of all half-breeds. However, this they quickly remedied, and Tresler saw quite a decent prospect of comfort for their stay there.

Arizona said very little while there was work to be done. And his companion was astonished, even though he knew him so well, at his capacity and forethought. Evening was the most important time, and here the cattleman stood out a master of his craft. The beeves had to be corralled every night. There must be no chance of straying, since they were sold, and liable for transport at any moment. This work, and the task of counting, demanded all the cattleman’s skill. Bands of fifty were rounded up, cut out from the rest, and quietly brought in. When each corral was filled, and the whole herd accommodated for the night, a supply of fresh young hay was thrown to them to keep them occupied during their few remaining hours of waking. Arizona was a giant at the work; and to see his lithe, lean body swaying this way and that, as he swung his well-trained pony around the ambling herd, his arms and “rope” and voice at work, was to understand something of the wild life that claimed him, and the wild, untrained nature which was his.

The last corral was fastened up, and then, but not until then, the two friends took leisure.

“Wal,” said Arizona, as they stood leaning against the bars of the biggest corral, “guess ther’s goin’ to be a night-guard?”

“Yes. These boys are smart enough lads, it seems. We’ll let them take two hours about up to midnight You and I will do the rest.”

“An’ the hull lot of us’ll sleep round the corrals?”

“That’s it.”

“An’ the hosses?”

“We’ll keep them saddled.”

“An’ the sheriff’s fellers?”

“That I can’t say. We’re not likely to see them, anyway.”

And so the plans were arranged, simple, even hopeless in construction. Two men, for they could not depend on the half-breeds, to face possibly any odds should the raider choose this spot for attack. But however inadequate the guard, there was something morally strong in the calm, natural manner of its arranging. These two knew that in case of trouble they had only themselves to depend on. Yet neither hesitated, or balked at the undertaking. Possibilities never entered into their calculations.

The first and second night produced no alarm. Nor did they receive any news of a disturbing nature. On the third day Jacob Smith rode into their camp. He was a patrol guard, on a visiting tour of the outlying stations. His news was peaceful enough.

“I don’t care a cuss how long the old man keeps the funks,” he said, with a cheery laugh. “I give it you right here, this job’s a snap. I ride around like a gen’l spyin’ fer enemies. Guess Red Mask has his uses.”

“So’s most folk,” responded Arizona, “but ’tain’t allus easy to locate.”

“Wal, I guess I ken locate his jest about now. I’m sort o’ lyin’ fallow, which ain’t usual on Skitter Bend.”

“Guess not. He’s servin’ us diff’rent.”

“Ah! Doin’ night-guard? Say, I’d see blind hulk roastin’ ’fore I’d hang on to them beasties. But it’s like you, Arizona. You hate him wuss’n hell, an’ Jake too, yet you’d – pshaw! So long. Guess I’d best get on. I’ve got nigh forty miles to do ’fore I git back.”

And he rode away, careless, thoughtless, in the midst of a very real danger. And it was the life they all led. They asked for a wage, a bunk, and grub; nothing else mattered.

Tresler had developed a feeling that the whole thing was a matter of form rather than dead earnest, that he had been precipitate in sending his message to the sheriff. He wanted to get back to the ranch. He understood only too well how he had furthered Jake’s projects, and cursed himself bitterly for having been so easily duped. He was comfortably out of the way, and the foreman would take particularly good care that he should remain so as long as possible. Arizona, too, had become anything but enlivening. He went about morosely and snapped villainously at the boys. There was no word in answer to the message to the sheriff. They daily searched the bluff for some sign, but without result, and Tresler was rather glad than disappointed, while Arizona seemed utterly without opinion on the matter.

The third night produced a slight shock for Tresler. It was midnight, and one of the boys roused him for his watch. He sat up, and, to his astonishment, found Arizona sitting on a log beside him. He waited until the boy had gone to turn in, then he looked at his friend inquiringly.

“What’s up?”

And Arizona’s reply fairly staggered him. “Say, Tresler,” he said, in a tired voice, utterly unlike his usual forceful manner, “I jest wanted to ast you to change ‘watches’ wi’ me. I’ve kind o’ lost my grip on sleep. Mebbe I’m weak’nin’ some. I ’lows I’m li’ble to git sleepy later on, an’ I tho’t, mebbe, ef I wus to do the fust watch – wal, y’ see, I guess that plug in my chest ain’t done me a heap o’ good.”

Tresler was on his feet in an instant. It had suddenly dawned on him that this queer son of the prairie was ill.

“Rot, man!” he exclaimed. His tone in no way hid his alarm. They were at the gate of the big corral, hidden in the shadow cast by the high wall of lateral logs. “You go and turn in. I’m going to watch till daylight.”

“Say, that’s real friendly,” observed the other, imperturbably. “But it ain’t no use. Guess I couldn’t sleep yet.”

“Well, please yourself. I’m going to watch till daylight.” Tresler’s manner was quietly decided, and Arizona seemed to accept it.

“Wal, ef it hits you that a-ways I’ll jest set around till I git sleepy.”

Tresler’s alarm was very real, but he shrugged with a great assumption of indifference and moved off to make a round of the corrals, carefully hugging the shadow of the walls as he went. After a while he returned to his post. Arizona was still sitting where he had left him.

There was a silence for a few minutes. Then the American quietly drew his revolver and spun the chambers round. Tresler watched him, and the other, looking up, caught his eye.

“Guess these things is kind o’ tricksy,” he observed, in explanation, “I got it jammed oncet. It’s a decent weapon but noo, an’ I ain’t fer noo fixin’s. This hyar,” he went on, drawing a second one from its holster, “is a ‘six’ an’ ’ud drop an ox at fifty. Ha’r trigger too. It’s a dandy. Guess it wus ‘Tough’ McCulloch’s. Guess you ain’t got yours on your hip?”

Tresler shook his head. “No, I use the belt for my breeches, and keep the guns loose in my pockets when I’m not riding.”

“Wrong. Say, fix ’em right. You take a sight too many chances.”

Tresler laughingly complied “I’m not likely to need them, but still – ”

“Nope.” Arizona returned his guns to their resting-place. Then he looked up. “Say, guess I kind o’ fixed the hosses diff’rent. Our hosses. Bro’t ’em up an’ stood ’em in the angle wher’ this corral joins the next one. Seems better; more handy-like. It’s sheltered, an’ ther’s a bit of a sharp breeze. One o’ them early frosts.” He looked up at the sky. “Guess ther’ didn’t ought. Ther’ ain’t no moon till nigh on daylight. Howsum, ther’ ain’t no argyfyin’ the weather.”

Tresler was watching his comrade closely. There was something peculiar in his manner. He seemed almost fanciful, yet there was a wonderful alertness in the rapidity of his talk. He remained silent, and, presently, the other went on again, but he had switched off to a fresh topic.

“Say, I never ast you how you figgered to settle wi’ Jake,” he said. “I guess it’ll be all” – he broke off, and glanced out prairieward, but went on almost immediately, – “a settlin’. I’ve seen you kind o’ riled. And I’ve seen Jake.” He stood up and peered into the darkness while he talked in his even monotone. “Yup,” he went on, “ther’s ways o’ dealin’ wi’ men – an’ ways. Guess, now, ef you wus dealin’ wi’ an honest citizen you’d jest talk him fair. Mind, I figger to know you a heap.” His eyes suddenly turned on the man he was addressing, but returned almost at once to their earnest contemplation of the black vista of grass-land. “You’d argyfy the point reas’nable, an’ leave the gal to settle for you. But wi’ Jake it’s diff’rent.” His hand slowly went round to his right hip, and suddenly he turned on his friend with a look of desperate meaning. “D’you know what it’ll be ’tween you two? This is what it means;” and he whipped out the heavy six that had once been “Tough” McCulloch’s, and leveled it at arm’s length out prairieward. Tresler thought it was coming at him, and sprang back, while Arizona laughed. “This is what it’ll be. You’ll take a careful aim, an’ if you’ve friends around they’ll see fair play, sure. I guess they’ll count ‘three’ for you, so. Jest one, two, an’ you’ll both fire on the last, so. Three!”

There was a flash, and a sharp report, and then a cry split the still night air. Tresler sprang at the man whom he now believed was mad, but the cry stayed him, and the next moment he felt the grip of Arizona’s sinewy hand on his arm, and was being dragged round the corral as the sound of horses’ hoofs came thundering toward him.

“It’s them!”

It was the only explanation Arizona vouchsafed. They reached the horses and both sprang into the saddle, and the American’s voice whispered hoarsely —

“Bend low. Guess these walls’ll save us, an’ we’ve got a sheer sight o’ all the corral gates. Savee? Shoot careful, an’ aim true. An’ watch out on the bluff. The sheriff’s around.”

And now the inexperienced Tresler saw the whole scheme. The masterly generalship of his comrade filled him with admiration. And he had thought him ill, his brain turned! For some reason he believed the raiders were approaching, but not being absolutely sure, he had found an excuse for not turning in as usual, and cloaked all his suspicions for fear of giving a false alarm. And their present position was one of carefully considered strategy; the only possible one from which they could hope to achieve any advantage, for, sheltered, they yet had every gate of the corrals within gunshot.

But there was little time for reflection or speculation. If the sheriff’s men came, well and good. In the meantime a crowd of a dozen men had charged down upon the corrals, a silent, ghostly band; the only noise they made was the clatter of their horses’ hoofs.

Both men, watching, were lying over their horses’ necks. Arizona was the first to shoot. Again his gun belched a death-dealing shot. Tresler saw one figure reel and fall with a groan. Then his own gun was heard. His aim was less effective, and only brought a volley in reply from the raiders. That volley was the signal for the real battle to begin. The ambush of the two defenders was located, and the rustlers divided, and came sweeping round to the attack.

But Arizona was ready. Both horses wheeled round and raced out of their improvised fort, and Tresler, following the keen-witted man, appreciated his resource as he darted into another angle between two other corrals. The darkness favored them, and the rustlers swept by. Arizona only waited long enough for them to get well clear, then his gun rang out again, and Tresler’s too. But the game was played out. A straggler sighted them and gave the alarm, and instantly the rest took up the chase.

“Round the corrals!”

As he spoke Arizona turned in his saddle and fired into the mob. A perfect hail of shots replied, and the bullets came singing all round them. He was as cool and deliberate as though he were hunting jack-rabbits. Tresler joined him in a fresh fusillade, and two more saddles were emptied, but the next moment a gasp told Arizona that his comrade was hit, and he turned only just in time to prevent him reeling out of the saddle.

“Hold up, boy!” he cried. “Kep your saddle if hell’s let loose. I’ll kep ’em busy.”

And the wounded man, actuated by a similar spirit, sat bolt upright, while the two horses sped on. They were round at the front again. But though Arizona was as good as his word, and his gun was emptied and reloaded and emptied again, it was a hopeless contest – hopeless from the beginning. Tresler was bleeding seriously from a wound in his neck, and his aim was becoming more and more uncertain. But his will was fighting hard for mastery over his bodily weakness. Just as they headed again toward the bluff, Arizona gave a great yank at his reins and his pony was thrown upon its haunches. The Lady Jezebel, too, as though working in concert with her mate, suddenly stopped dead.

The cause of the cowpuncher’s action was a solitary horseman standing right ahead of them gazing out at the bluff. The plainsman’s gun was up in an instant, in spite of the pursuers behind. Death was in his eye as he took aim, but at that instant there was a shout from the bluff, and the cry was taken up behind him – “Sheriff’s posse!” That cry lost him his chance of fetching Red Mask down. Before he could let the hammer of his gun fall, the horseman had wheeled about and vanished in the darkness.

Simultaneously the pursuers swung out, turned, and the next moment were in full retreat under a perfect hail of carbine-fire from the sheriff’s men.

And as the latter followed in hot pursuit, Arizona hailed them —

“You’ve missed him; he’s taken the river-bank for it. It’s Red Mask! I see him.”

But now Tresler needed all his friend’s attention. Arizona saw him fall forward and lie clinging to his saddle-horn. He sprang to his aid, and, dismounting, lifted him gently to the ground. Then he turned his own horse loose, leading the Lady Jezebel while he supported the sick man up to the shack.