"

"Something----" Scott stared at the little man uncomprehendingly.

"So. Do you want them to see those ugly bodies?" he pointed to the two
dead Yaquis, stretched ghastly and plain in the moonlight. "I shall pull
them into the shadow of the bushes."

"Well, he's nervy for a piano player, ain't he?" murmured Scott, as he and
Hard turned the corner of the house.

"I think, myself, that there's a lot of rot talked about the artistic
temperament," replied Hard, drily. "The war showed us that poets could
fight as courageously as plumbers, and I've always thought that when you
got the real unadulterated article in artistic temperament, you usually
got with it a distinctly cruel streak. I believe that you and I hated
killing those Indians a lot more than Herrick did, though he'll probably
throw a nervous chill over it after a while and compose a piece about
it."

"Well, maybe so," assented Scott. "He's the only artistic chap I ever got
real close to and I don't mind admitting he's mighty queer--but he ain't
yellow. I'll say that for him after to-night."

They were passing a clump of bushes as he spoke and two dark figures
started forth. Scott instinctively put his hand on his gun.

"Oh," gasped the shorter figure, "what has happened? Are you shot? Who is
running away--you or they?" She seized Scott's wrists with a clutching
hold.

Scott laughed. "That's how you obey orders, is it? Where are the horses?"

"I don't know. We stayed right here," faltered Polly. "I want to know if
you're hurt!"

"No, not if I know it, and I usually recognize bullets when they hit me."

"What happened?" insisted the other woman. "Have they gone?"

"They're fighting somebody over in the hills--we don't know who it is,"
replied Hard. "Probably Angel Gonzales. These fellows were evidently an
advance guard."

"We ought to get out of here before they come back," said Scott. "You
can't tell how long that will last--and whoever licks, we don't want to be
hanging around here."

"They'll burn the place, I suppose," said Mrs. Conrad, wearily. "May I go
back and get some things?"

Scott hesitated. "I think we ought to get away," he said. "But one of us
will have to go back to get Herrick and the saddles--if you can hurry--go
with her, Hard, and I'll go after the horses."

"Saddles?" Polly spoke suddenly. "Weren't they in the barn?"

"No; luckily I put them in the wagon when I was tinkering with it," said
Scott. "We've only two horses, you