at the sound of hoofs and as the
beautiful mare leaped around the turn and appeared above the bank of the
grade the little roan squealed a nicker of recognition. The filly sprang
forward, swerved to the side of the stallion, and with an answering
whinny stopped.

"Oh!" Carolyn June gasped, as the horses met and she saw the Ramblin'
Kid, his gun still in his hand, standing beside Captain Jack.

There was a brief, questioning silence.

"What th' hell!" he breathed.

"What the--'_hell_--yourself!" she laughed nervously. "Is--this--is this
a hold-up?"

"What are _you_ doin' here--this time of night--an' on that filly?" he
asked without heeding her question.

"I'm riding that--this--filly!" Carolyn June shot back independently.
"And what are _you_ doing here--at this time of--Oh," she added,
before he could answer, "I--I--believe my saddle's slipping!" and she
swung lightly from the back of the outlaw mare.

"That filly'll kill you," he began.

"She will not!" Carolyn June interrupted with a pout. "I--I--guess
you're not the only one, Mister 'Nighthawk,' that knows the way to the
heart of a horse! If you were just as wise about--" but she stopped, her
blush hidden as she turned her back to the rising moon.

"They was made for each other!" the Ramblin' Kid muttered to himself.
Then he spoke aloud: "I reckon you know," he said slowly, "why I'm
ridin' at night--about me killin' Sabota--I'm leavin'--"

"But Sabota isn't dead," she interrupted again. "You don't need to go
away!"

"Sabota ain't dead!" the Ramblin' Kid exclaimed. "Then I'll go back to
Eagle Butte instead of--Mexico!"

"Why?" Carolyn June asked.

"To finish th' job!" and his voice was dangerously soft.

"You can't finish it," she laughed. "He isn't in Eagle Butte! The Greek
has gone away and--well, it--it--was a good 'job'--good enough the way
you did it! I--I--don't want you 'teetotally' to kill him--clear, all
the way dead," she stammered. "The way it is you--you--won't have
to--leave!"

"What's th' difference?" he said dully. "It's time I was ramblin'
anyhow!"

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"Listen, Ramblin' Kid," she broke in, "I--I--know all about
everything--about what started the fight--"

"You do?" looking quickly and keenly at her. "Who told you?"

"Skinny," she answered; "he saw it. Said it was a pale pink ribbon or
something with a little silver 'do-funny' on it!" she finished with a
laugh.

"I--I--reckon you want it back, then?" the Ram