e he glanced behind him as a precaution
against some one of the enemy climbing Point o' Rocks from the defile,
but he gave this little consideration. He had not seen Brad when he
disappeared into the mesquite, and he supposed all of the rustlers were
still in the Pass five hundred feet below him.

What he had expected was that they would force their way up the defile
for a quarter of a mile and strike the easy trail that ran from the rear
to the top of the Point. He wondered that this had not occurred to
Healy.

In point of fact it had, but the outlaw leader knew that as they picked
their way among the broken boulders of the gulch bottom the enemy would
have them in the open for more than a hundred yards of slow going. He
had chosen the alternative of sending Brad quietly up the rough face of
the cliff. The other plan would do as a last resource if this failed.

Healy believed that his enemy had been delivered into his hands. After
Keller had been killed they would toss his body down into the Pass, and
while his companions continued the drive to Mexico, Healy would return
to get help for Duke and spread the story he wanted to get out. The main
features of that tale would be that he and Duke had cut their trail by
accident, suspected rustling, and followed as far as the Mimbres Pass,
where Keller had shot Duke and been in turn shot by Healy.

It was a neat plan, and one that would have been fairly sure of success
but for one unforeseen contingency--the approach of Yeager's posse a
half hour too soon. Healy heard them coming, knew he was trapped, and
attempted to force an escape through the narrows in front of Point o'
Rocks.

The milling cattle had jammed the gateway. Keller, shooting down one or
two of them, blocked the exit still more. Healy and his confederates
could not get through, and turned to try the defile just as the first of
the posse came flying down the Pass.

Young Sanderson was in the van, a hundred yards in front of Yeager,
dashing over the uneven ground in a reckless haste that Jim's slower
horse could not match. Loose shale was flying from his pony's hoofs as
it pounded forward. The outlaws just beat him to the mouth of the
intersecting gulch. Dragging his broncho to a slithering halt, he fired
twice at the retreating men. He had taken no time to aim, and his
bullets went wild.

Brill laughed in mockery, covered him deliberately with his rifle, and
just as deliberately raised the barrel and fire