of the A T O handed his sawed-off shotgun to Jumbo Wilkins,
caught Ramona round the shoulders with one arm, and ran her hurriedly
out of the danger-zone.

Joe Johnston's old trooper pushed the end of his rifle urgently against
Homer Dinsmore's ribs. "Doggone it, don't be so rampageous! Keep back
ther! This gun's liable to go off."

"What's ailin' you?" snarled Gurley. "Ain't you goin' to help us string
up the Mexican?"

"No, Steve. Our intentions is otherwise," replied Jumbo with a grin.
"An' don't any of you-all come closeter. This sawed-off shotgun of
Clint's is loaded with buckshot, an' she spatters all over the State of
Texas."

The little posse round the prisoner backed steadily to the left. Not
till they were almost at the horses did Dinsmore's mob guess the
intentions of the Ranger.

Pete gave a howl of rage and let fly a bullet at Alviro. Before the
sound of the shot had died away, the outlaw dropped his revolver with an
oath. The accurate answering fire of Roberts had broken his wrist.

"No use, Pete," growled his brother. "They've got the deadwood on us
to-day. But I reckon there are other days comin'."

Homer Dinsmore was right. The mob had melted away like a small snowbank
in a hot sun. It was one thing to help lynch a defenseless Mexican; it
was quite another to face nine or ten determined men backing the law.
Scarce a score of the vigilantes remained, and most of them were looking
for a chance to save their faces "without starting anything," as Jumbo
put it later.

The lynching-party stood sullenly at a distance and watched the Ranger,
his prisoner, and three other men mount the horses. The rest of the
posse covered the retreat of the horsemen.

Just before the riders left, Jumbo asked a question that had been
disturbing him. "Say, Tex, honest Injun, would you 'a' fired off that
dynamite if it had come to a showdown?"

Roberts laughed. He drew from his pocket the sticks, tossed them into
the air, and took a quick shot with his revolver.

For a moment not a soul in the posse nor one of Dinsmore's watching
vigilantes drew a breath. Not one had time to move in self-defense.

The bullet hit its mark. All present saw the little spasmodic jerk of
the bundle in the air. But there was no explosion. The dynamite fell
harmlessly to the ground.

The old Confederate stepped forward and picked up the bundle. He
examined it curiously, then let out a whoop of joyous mirth.

"Nothin' but painted sticks!