narrow,
straight line, and the yellow flame blazed in his wide and brilliant
eyes. He shifted the child more to the left and turned sidewise toward
his assailant, shielding the little one with his body. Antone Colorow,
shouting curses and vile names, came dashing on, revolver in hand, to
try again at closer quarters. Mead kept on, running sidewise, his set
white face turned over his shoulder and his flashing eyes fixed on
Antone's revolver hand. They were within a score of paces of each
other when Mead suddenly jumped to one side and the bullet that was
meant for his head whistled harmlessly through the air. "Three!" he
thought, his eyes fixed steadily on Antone's right hand, as he still
advanced toward the angry man. For he had noticed that the Mexican
wore no cartridge belt. Again he sprang to one side as he saw Antone's
finger stiffen upon the trigger, and the ball rattled through the
bushes behind him. "Four!" he thought, veering toward the west. The
Mexican turned his horse to follow, and Mead, with eyes fixed on the
trigger, and noting, too, the slant of the barrel, knew that he had no
need to dodge the next bullet. It went wild and tore up the ground
some feet away. "Only one more!" he thought, as he halted with the sun
at his back and shining straight in the Mexican's face. A sudden,
quick leap and a loud yell startled Antone's horse, it jerked
backward, and the last bullet went singing harmlessly through the air.

Antone's voice shot up into a falsetto, and shrieking vile curses he
threw the empty revolver over his shoulder and leaped to the ground.
Mead's watchful eye caught the gleam of a steel blade in the sunlight.
He dropped his burden upon the ground, in the shade of a clump of
greasewood, and sprang to one side. He caught Antone's wrist, as the
knife made its downward turn, and held that hand high in the air for a
moment while he looked into the Mexican's eyes. They shone with the
angry glare of a wild beast.

"Antone," he said, "I have found the lost child. It is still alive,
and it may live if I can get it to the doctor at once. Will you let me
go and finish this quarrel afterward?"

The Mexican's only answer was a volley of curses. This man had broken
his wrists and made useless that boasted skill with the lasso which
had been the one pride of his life. For weeks and months anger and
hatred and the determination to have revenge had blazed in his heart,
and at sight of his enemy everything else went