ms. "Let's call it off, Brand. I got my man. They was no need
of the rest of it. How did it start, anyhow?"

"That's about what the kid said when he let go the wagon on top of the
hill. I counted five Gophers down. Billy's hit, and Miguel's goin' to
be, the dam' little fool. Look at him!"

The Gophertown men were drawing away toward the canon. They turned
occasionally to throw a shot at Miguel and Pars Long, who followed them.

Bud Light sat his horse, gazing solemnly at the stump of his gun-finger.
His shirt was spattered with blood.

Suddenly Williams raised a shrill call. The Moonstone boys wheeled their
ponies and rode toward him. Williams pointed up the canon. Down it rode
a group of men who seemed to be undecided in their movements. They would
spur forward and then check and circle, apparently waiting for their
friends to come up to them. "It's the rest of the Gophertown outfit. We
might as well beat it," said Williams. "This here thing's gettin' too
popular all to once."

"Did that guy get you?" asked Williams, nodding to Overland.

"Not what you'd notice," replied Overland. "We'll take a drink on the
house. She ain't so tidy as she was."

"Neither is the guy behind the bar," said Bud Light, pointing with the
stub of his finger to Lusk's face. The saloon-keeper had been hit between
the eyes by a chance bullet.

"He's where he belongs," said Williams. "So is this one." And Williams
touched Saunders's body with his boot. "Let's drink and vamoose."

"Here's to the kid!" cried Overland, strangely white and shaky.

"Here's hoping!" chorused the Moonstone riders.

[Illustration: IT'S A CLEAN-UP]

CHAPTER XXIX

TOLL

None of the Moonstone boys had supposed that Overland Red was hit. He
rode joyfully and even began a poem to the occasion. Williams was first
to notice that Overland's speech was growing thick and that his free
hand clasped the saddle-horn.

The others, riding a little to the rear, burst suddenly into boisterous
laughter. "What you think, Brand?" called Pars Long. "Bud's jest been
countin' his fingers and he says there is one missin'. He ain't sure
yet, but he's countin' hard. He has to skip when he comes to number one
on his right mitt. Says he can't get started to count, that way."

"Some lucky it ain't his head," replied Williams.

"His head? Bud would never miss that. But his pore little ole finger,
layin' calm and cold back there. A very sad business, brethren."

"I paid t