ort, sank slowly to the ground.

Close to the boy's ear spoke Steve. "Beat it. Make your getaway through
that door. Meet me at Johanson's corral."

The boy plunged through the doorway into the darkness outside. Toward
the exit after him backed the cowpuncher. Already scattered shots were
being flung in his direction, but the dim light served him well. The
last thing he saw before he vanished through the door was Culvera
groping for his weapon.

CHAPTER VII

STEVE TELLS TOO MUCH TRUTH

Yeager ducked into the night. From the door through which he had just
come bullets spat aimlessly. He crouched as he ran, dodging in zigzag
little rushes. Voices pursued him, fierce and threatening. Men poured
from the gambling-house as seeds are squirted from a squeezed lemon.

Into a vacant lot behind a store Steve swerved, finding shelter among
some empty drygoods boxes. He was none too soon, for as he sank to
cover, the rush of feet padded down the sidewalk. Stealthily he crept to
the fence, vaulted it lightly, and found a more secure hiding-place in
the lumber yard beyond. From the top of a pile of two by fours he
watched, every sense alert to catch any warning of danger.

Soon his pursuers returned in little groups to their interrupted games.
Now that the first excitement of the chase was over, few of them wanted
to risk a battle with desperate men in the dark. That was what the
rurales and the rangers were for.

The cowpuncher slid down cautiously and left the lumber yard by way of
the alley in the rear. He followed a barb-wire fence which bounded a
pasture, and at the next corner crossed the street warily into United
States territory. By alleys and back ways his feet took him to
Johanson's stable. Noiselessly he crept toward it from the rear. Some
one was inside saddling a horse. So much he could gather from the
sounds. Was it Phil? Or was it some one getting ready for the pursuit?
He moved a step nearer. A stick cracked beneath his foot.

The man saddling the bronco whirled, revolver in hand. "Who is it?"
demanded a tense voice.

"All right, Phil." Steve moved forward, breathing easier. "Glad you made
it. We'd better light a shuck out of here. They'll stir up the rurales
to get after us, I reckon."

Already he was busy saddling Four Bits.

"Do you ... do you think I killed him?" jerked out the boy, a strangled
sob of over-strained emotion in his throat.

"Don't know. He was asking for it, wasn't he?" answer