all he could say.

Again Daisy cut in, this time sharply. "Tell us your story, Steve. What
is it that's wrong?"

In a dozen sentences he told it. They listened tensely. The mother was
the first to break the silence after he had finished. She began to sob.
Steve put an arm across her shoulder awkwardly.

"Now, don't you, Mrs. Seymour. Don't you take on. We'll get right on his
trail." He turned abruptly to Orman. "Get horses saddled. We'll hit the
road right away. Daisy, call up Threewit and let him know. I'll take
your gat, Shorty."

The edge of decision was in his voice. Nobody disputed the orders of
this lean, brown, sunbaked youth with the alert, quiet, masterful eyes.
In his manner was something more deadly than threats. More than one of
those present thought he would not like to be Harrison.

"Mr. Threewit has gone. He and Frank started for Noche Buena almost an
hour ago. They went because of your letter," explained Miss Ellington.

"Good. We'll probably catch them. Jackson, find out if they went armed
and see that we all have rifles as well as six-guns. Get a move on you.
We'll start in ten minutes from the hotel."

Within the stipulated time they were in the saddle. Steve looked his
posse over with an eye competent and vigilant. "Orman, you and Bob ride
straight to the Lazy B. Harrison gave it out he was going to stop there
for the night. Me, I think he was lying. If he hasn't been there, cut
acrost to Gila Creek and follow the bed. Jackson and Dan, you go
straight south for the old Pima water-hole and sweep along below the
edge of the mesa. I'll have a try more to the east. Mind, no slip-up,
boys. And don't forget Harrison wears his guns low. If you have to
shoot, aim to kill."

Phil Seymour came running down the road. "What's this they're telling
about Ruth and Harrison?" he demanded.

Yeager had no time for explanations. He turned the boy over to one of
the others. "Tell him about it, Jackson. If he wants to go along, take
him with you and Dan. We'll all meet to-morrow noon at Sieber's Pass."

He shot down the road at a gallop, leaving behind him a cloud of gray
dust. The others followed at a canter. Their horses had to cover many
miles before morning and there was no use in running them off their legs
at the start.

Jackson, waiting for Phil to rope and saddle a pony, yelled a caution to
the others.

"Keep yore shirts on, boys. This ain't no hundred-yard dash. Steve's
burnin' the wind because h