upon them and attacked the
sheep. He and Menendez had elected to fight, and Jesus had been shot
down; he himself had barely escaped with his life--and that not without
a wound. The cow-punchers had followed him, and continued to fire at
him, but he had succeeded in escaping. Yes--he felt sure that Menendez
was dead. Even if he had not been dead at first, they would have killed
him.

Keller consulted Miss Sanderson silently. He knew that she was thinking
the thought that was in his own mind. It would never do to let this
story reach her father and her brother, while Buck Weaver was still in
their power. Inflamed as they already were against him, they would
surely do in hot blood that which they would repent later. Somehow,
Keller and she must hold back the news until they could contrive a way
to free the cattleman.

"Best leave Manuel at the Tryon place till morning. They will look out
for him as well as you can. That will give us twelve hours to work
before they hear what has happened."

"But what about poor Jesus, lying out there alone?"

"We'll get Bob Tryon to drive out. But you needn't worry about Jesus. If
they found him still living, the Twin Star boys will attend to him just
as kindly as we could. Cowboys have tender hearts, even though they go
off at half cock."

They did as Keller had suggested, and left the old Mexican under the
care of Mrs. Tryon, having pledged the family to a reluctant silence
until morning. Manuel's wound was not a bad one, and there seemed to be
no reason why he should not do well.

It was difficult to decide upon a plan for the release of Weaver. He was
confined in an old log cabin and watched continually by some one of the
riders; but a tentative plan was accepted, subject to revision if a
better chance of escape should occur. The success of this depended upon
the possibility of Keller drawing off the guard by a diversion, while
Phyllis slipped in and freed the prisoner.

The outlook was not roseate, but nothing better occurred to them. One
thing was sure--if Buck Weaver was not out of the hands of his enemies
before the news of this last outrage of his cowboys reached them, his
chance of life was not worth even an odds-on bet. For the hot blood of
the South raced through the veins of the sheepmen. They would strike
first and think about it afterward. And without doubt that first swift
blow would be a deadly one.

CHAPTER XII

THE ESCAPE

For the sixth time since the