any's foreman, and the two others
he knew were cow-boys. One of these he saw was a red-headed,
red-whiskered Mexican known as Antone Colorow--Red Antony--who was
famous in all that region for the skill with which he could throw the
lariat. His eye was accurate and his wrist was quick and supple, and
it was his greatest pride in life that the rope never missed landing
where he meant it should.

CHAPTER IX

The thunder clap which frightened the herd of cattle also roused
Tuttle and Ellhorn, and through half-awakened consciousness they heard
the noise of the stampede.

"What's that! The cattle?" exclaimed Tuttle, rising on his elbow.
Ellhorn jumped to his feet.

"Tom, there goes ten thousand dollars on the hoof and a-runnin' like
hell!"

"Where are the horses? Come on, Nick! Buck! Buck! Hello, Buck! Whoa!
Here's mine, Nick! Yours is over by the chuck wagon!"

Fumbling in the darkness, they hurried to release and saddle the
hobbled horses, and, calling to the sick cow-boy that when the foreman
should come in the morning he must make haste after them, they jumped
upon the ponies and set out on the gallop through the darkness to
trail the noise of the running cattle. With every flash of lightning
Nick Ellhorn looked about with keen, quick glances, and with
half-blinded eyes located mountain peaks and arroyos, considered the
direction in which they were headed, and the general lay of the land,
and after a time he broke out with a string of oaths:

"Tommy, them cow-brutes are headed straight for Sweetwater Springs,
and the Fillmore outfit's camped there to-night! Jim Halliday is
there, and so is that measly Wellesly, if he hasn't gone back to town.
He was out here two days ago. Emerson and the cattle will sure strike
the Springs just about daylight, if they keep up their gait and
nothing stops 'em!"

Tuttle swore angrily under his breath. "That's just the snap they've
been waitin' for all this time! Their only show to get Emerson, or to
kill him either, is to come down on him half a dozen to one, and they
know it. Well, if they kill him he won't be the first to drop--nor the
last, either," he added with a little break in his voice, as he gave
his sombrero a nervous pull over his forehead.

"I reckon," Ellhorn replied, "they don't want to kill Emerson, as long
as you and me are alive. They know what would happen afterward. Jim
Halliday has got that same old warrant over there, and what they want
to do is to