e's got to haid off Harrison from Pasquale's
camp. All we got to do is to drive him up to Steve."

Phil cut out and roped a pony, then slapped on a saddle. Presently he
and Jackson were following the others down the dust-filled road.

The boy spoke his fears aloud, endeavoring to reassure himself.

"Chad won't hurt Ruth any. He wouldn't dare. This country won't stand
for that kind of a play with a girl. Arizona would hang him to the first
telegraph pole that was handy."

The cowpuncher looked at him and spoke dryly. "I reckon the skunk's been
out of Arizona quite some time. He's in greaser land now, and I never
heard tell that Pasquale was so darned particular what his men did. Just
tie a knot in this: if Harrison reaches the insurrecto camp with yore
sister, she'll come back as his wife--or not at all."

"By God! I'll kill Harrison at sight if he hurts a hair of her head,"
the boy cried, a lump in his throat.

"Mebbe you will, mebbe you won't. Chad ain't just what you'd call a
white man. He'll shoot out of the chaparral if he's pressed. Someone's
going to git hurt if we bump into Mr. Harrison. It won't be no picnic
a-tall to take him. He's liable to be more hos-tile than a nest of
yellow jackets."

"Leave him to me if we come up with him. I'll shoot it out with him,"
the boy cried wildly.

Jackson grinned. "You're crazy with the heat, boy. What do you reckon I
bought chips in this game for? I want a crack at the coyote myself."

Phil and Jackson caught up with old Dan a mile or so beyond the point
where the road to the Lazy B left the main traveled trail.

"The other boys hitting the dust for the ranch?" asked Jackson.

"Yep."

"Yeager's got it right. They won't find Harrison there. He'll go through
with his play. Chad's no quitter."

Dan nodded. He was a reticent man of about fifty-five with a bald head
and a face of wrinkled leather.

"We'll git him sure," Phil spoke up, announcing his hope rather than his
conviction. "Steve knows what he's doing, you bet."

Yeager himself was not so sure. Doubts tortured him as to the
destination of Harrison. Perhaps, after all, he might be making for some
refuge in the hills and not for Pasquale's headquarters. He knew that as
soon as word reached them the Lazy B riders would begin to comb the
desert in pursuit. But what were a dozen riders among these thousand
hill pockets of the desert? The best chance was to catch the man at some
one of the few water-holes. But