loud of smoke straight up toward the sky.

"Me, too," said he.

The cessation of the shooting had put an end to the Indians'
uncertainty. Another moment would bring them knowledge of the state of
affairs.

"Don't get much outen my scalp, anyway," said Alfred, uncovering his
bald head.

The sentinel on the distant ridge was riding his pony in short-looped
circles and waving a blanket in a peculiar way above his head. From the
grass nine Indians arose, stooped, and scuttled off like a covey of
running quail. Over by the fires warriors were leaping on their ponies,
and some were leading other ponies in the direction of the nine. An air
of furtive but urgent haste characterised all these movements. Alfred
lent an attentive ear.

"Seems a whole lot like a rescue," he remarked, quietly. "I reckon th'
boys been followin' of my trail."

The stranger paused in the act of unhobbling the one remaining pony. In
the distance, faintly, could be heard cheers and shots intended as
encouragement.

"They's comin' on th' jump," said Alfred.

By this time the stranger had unfastened the horse.

"I reckon we quits," said he, mounting; "I jest nat'rally takes this
bronc, because I needs him more'n you do. So long. I may 's well confide
that I'm feelin' some glad jest now that them Injins comes along."

And then his pony fell in a heap, and began to kick up dirt and to snort
blood.

"I got another, so you just subside a lot," commanded Alfred, recocking
his six-shooter.

The stranger lay staring at him in astonishment.

"Thought you was busted on catridges!" he cried.

"You-all may as well know," snapped Alfred, "that's long as I'm an
officer of this yere district, I'm a sheriff first and an Injin-fighter
afterward."

"What the hell!" wondered the road-agent, still in a daze.

"Them's th' two catridges that would have stopped 'em," said Alfred.

IV

THE RACE

This story is most blood-and-thundery, but, then, it is true. It is one
of the stories of Alfred; but Alfred is not the hero of it at all--quite
another man, not nearly so interesting in himself as Alfred.

At the time, Alfred and this other man, whose name was Tom, were
convoying a band of Mexican vaqueros over to the Circle-X outfit. The
Circle-X was in the heat of a big round-up, and had run short of men. So
Tom and Alfred had gone over to Tucson and picked up the best they could
find, which best was enough to bring tears to the eyes of an
old-fashi