fat fellers up in San Antone. All got de
sickness of de kidney or de stomach. Me, I rather be poor man and live on
de outside."

"Well, that ain't bad for an old heathen, eh, Miss Polly?" chuckled
Penhallow. "Come on, we've got to load this stuff into the Ford before
those greasers get here."

"How much do you think there is?" asked Polly, eagerly.

"Oh, I don't know--a few thousands, I guess. I've a notion old Gasca had
to whack up with the fellows who helped him get it across. It's no fortune
but it's going to give us lame backs moving it and I reckon the Company
will be glad to see it again."

It was a hard load to move and long before the transfer was made Polly
acknowledged that she was glad they hadn't made a bigger haul. It was
growing darker, too, and Wildcat Canyon began to seem less and less the
sort of place for a picnic.

"Well, little lady," observed Penhallow, as they started down the canyon,
"you've done a good night's work for your brother. Say, Mendoza, don't
that look like a car to you down yonder?"

Polly sat up suddenly. "I thought you said that you owned the only car in
town?"

"I do. That's why I've a notion that that's mine, though why Ed Merriam
should be flourishin' it around here, I don't know."

"Car, yes," agreed Mendoza. "Make 'em back up. Can't pass there."

At the same moment the other car honked excitedly and Mendoza answered.

"There are some men on horseback there, aren't there?" said Polly,
straining her eyes.

"On the other side of the arroyo--yes. Hullo, guns! Say, Ed's in trouble!
Shake a leg, Mendoza--we got to look into this. Girlie, you can lie down
if they shoot, do you hear?"

"Yes," breathed Polly, excitedly.

They could see plainly now. They saw two of the mounted men dash off and
the other, reeling in his saddle, but holding gamely to his seat, dash
after them. Then they saw two men from the automobile spring to support
the third who had fallen.

"Gosh, I hope that ain't Ed!" said Penhallow. "I don't like the guy much,
but Mabel would have my blood if I let him get plugged and me on the spot
doing nothing."

"Not Merriam," said Mendoza, darkly. "Merriam and Senor Hard carry the
man."

"Hold on!" But Penhallow was too slow. The car was slowing down and Polly
was out in the road. Penhallow followed her.

"Is--is he killed?"

Hard looked up from his task of reviving Scott, with the contents of his
whiskey flask and saw to his amazement a white-faced Poll