in a minute,"
Yeager gave orders quietly.

The girl flashed one look at him, found assurance in his strong, lean
face, and obeyed without a word.

Farrar's rifle was already scattering bullets rather wildly into the
night. Lead spattered against the adobe wall behind them. But the
attackers were checked. Their fire was of a desultory character. There
was such a thing as being too impetuous. Who were these men they were
assailing? Perhaps they were acting under orders of Pasquale. Better
not be too rash. So the mind of the peon soldiers decided.

As soon as Ruth had reached the shelter of the grove her friends moved
to join her. They were halfway across the open when the cowpuncher
plunged to the ground again.

The camera man turned and ran back to him. "What is it, Steve? Have they
hit you?" he asked anxiously.

"Plugged a pill into my laig as I took the elevator down from the second
story. Gimme a hand up."

Frank put an arm around his waist as a support and they reached cover
just as the leg failed for a third time. Yeager crawled forward a few
yards on his knees into the underbrush.

Soft arms slid around his neck and shoulder as someone plumped down
beside him.

"You're wounded. You've been shot," Ruth breathed tremulously.

"Yes," assented Yeager. "Hand me your rifle, Frank."

They exchanged weapons. Steve had already made up his mind exactly what
was best to do.

"I'm going to stay here awhile and hold them back. You go on with Ruth,
Frank. Leave a horse for me. I'll be along later," he explained.

"We're not going away to leave you here," protested Ruth indignantly.

His voice was so matter of fact and his manner so competent that she had
already drawn back, half ashamed, from the caressing support to which
her feelings had driven her.

He turned on her eyes cool and steely. "You're going to do as I say,
girl. You're wasting time for all of us every moment you stay. Take her,
Frank."

Farrar spoke in a low voice of troubled doubt. "But what are you going
to do, Steve? We can't leave you here."

The bullets of the Mexicans were searching the grove for them. Any
moment one might find a mark.

The range-rider made a gesture of angry impatience. "You obey orders
fine, don't you?" His face flashed sudden anger. "Get out. I know my
plans, don't I? Pull your freight. Vamos!"

"And you'll be along later, will you?"

"Of course I will. I've got it all arranged. Hurry, or it will be too
late."