ch as
soon as we can get there, and then we're going to run them out of the
country."

"Whoop-e-e-e-e-e!" The old plainsman's yell of exultation split the
night like the yelp of a coyote, and he brought his hand down on Wade's
back with a force which made the latter wince. "By the great horned
toad, that's talkin! That's the finest news I've heard since my old
mammy said to the parson, 'Call him Bill, for short.' Whoop-e-e-e-e!"

Wade's warning to keep still was lost on the wind, for Santry stuck his
spurs into his horse's flanks and charged along the trail like an
old-time knight. With a grim smile his employer put on speed and
followed him.

CHAPTER IX

THE BATTLE AT THE RANCH

When Wade and Santry approached the big pine, the waiting men came out
from its shadow and rode forward, with the borrowed rifles across their
saddle horns.

"All right, boys?" the rancher asked, taking Trowbridge's new rifle, a
beautiful weapon, which Lawson handed to him.

"All right, sir," answered Tim Sullivan, adding the "sir" in extenuation
of his befuddled condition the night before, while each man gave Santry
a silent hand-shake to welcome him home.

Grimly, silently, then, save for the dashing of their horses' hoofs
against the loose stones, and an occasional muttered imprecation as a
rider lurched in his saddle, the seven men rode rapidly toward the
mountains. In numbers, their party was about evenly matched with the
enemy, and Wade meant that the advantage of surprise, if possible,
should rest with him in order to offset such advantage as Moran might
find in the shelter of the house. But, however that might be, each man
realized that the die had been cast and that the fight, once begun,
would go to a finish.

"I only hope," Santry remarked, as a steep grade forced them to lessen
their speed, "I can get my two hands on that cussed tin-horn, Moran.
Him and me has a misunderstandin' to settle, for sure."

"You leave him to me, Bill." Wade spoke vindictively. "He's my meat."

"Well, since you ask it, I'll try, boy. But there's goin' to be some
fightin' sure as taxes, and when I get to fightin', I'm liable to go
plumb, hog wild. Say, I hope you don't get into no trouble over this
here jail business o' mine. That 'ud make me feel bad, Gordon."

"We'll not worry about that now, Bill."

"That's right. Don't worry till you have to, and then shoot instead.
That's been my motto all my born days, and it ain't such durn b