s and thrust her down to her knees in a corner of
the room.

"What in blue blazes--?" Clint began to demand angrily.

"Keep still," interrupted Jack. "Some one's bushwhackin' either you or
me."

He crept to the window and drew down the blind. A small hole showed
where the bullet had gone through the window and left behind it a star
of shattered glass.

Ramona began to whimper. Her father's arm found and encircled her. "It's
all right, honey. He can't git us now."

"I'm goin' out by the back door. Mebbe I can put salt on this bird's
tail," said Jack. "You stay right where you are, Mr. Wadley. They can't
hit either of you in that corner."

"Oh, don't! Please don't go!" wailed the girl.

Her words were a fillip to the Ranger. They sent a glow through his
blood. He knew that at that moment she was not thinking of the danger to
herself.

"Don't you worry. I'll swing round on him wide. Ten to one he's already
hittin' the dust fast to make his get-away."

He slipped out of the room and out of the house. So slowly did he move
that it was more than an hour before he returned to them.

"I guessed right," he told the cattleman. "The fellow hit it up at a
gallop through the brush. He's ten miles from here now."

"Was he after me or you?"

"Probably me. The Rangers ain't popular with some citizens. Looks to me
like Steve Gurley's work."

"I wouldn't be a Ranger if I was you. I'd resign," said Ramona
impulsively.

"Would you?" Jack glanced humorously at Wadley. "I don't expect yore
father would indorse them sentiments, Miss Ramona. He'd tell me to go
through."

Clint nodded. "'Mona said you wanted to see me about somethin'."

The young man showed a little embarrassment. The cattleman guessed the
reason. He turned to his daughter.

"Private business, honey."

Ramona kissed her father good-night and shook hands with Jack. When they
were alone the Ranger mentioned the reason for his call.

"It's goin' around that Pete Dinsmore claims to have somethin' on
Rutherford. The story is that he says you'd better lay off him or he'll
tell what he knows."

The eyes of the cattleman winced. Otherwise he gave no sign of
distress.

"I've got to stand the gaff, Jack. He can't blackmail me, even if the
hound cooks up some infernal story about Ford. I hate it most on 'Mona's
account. It'll hurt the little girl like sixty."

Jack was of that opinion too, but he knew that Wadley's decision not to
throw his influence to shie