r each other in an effort to dodge the
flying splinters that filled the powder-fogged air.

"Little black bull slid down the mountain,
L-o-n-g t-i-m-e ago!"

roared the Texan as he threw open the cylinder of his gun.

"H-e-e-e-e scraped his horn on a hickory saplin',
L-o-n-g t-i-m-e ago----"

There was a sudden commotion behind him, a swift rush of feet, a muffled
thud, and a gasping, agonized grunt. The next instant the huge acetelyne
lamp that lighted the room fell to the floor with a crash and the place
was plunged in darkness.

"Queek, m's'u, dees way!" a hand grasped his wrist and the cowpuncher
felt himself drawn swiftly toward the door. From all sides sounded the
scuffling of straining men who breathed heavily as they fought in the
blackness.

A thin red flame cut the air and a shot rang sharp. Someone screamed and
a string of Spanish curses blended into the hubbub of turmoil.

"De hosses, queek, m's'u!"

The cool air of the street fanned the Texan's face as he leaped across
the sidewalk, and vaulted into the saddle. The next moment the big black
was pounding the roadway neck and neck with another, smaller horse upon
which the half-breed swayed in the saddle with the ease and grace of the
loose-rein rider born.

It was broad daylight when the cowpuncher opened his eyes in an arroyo
deep among the hills far, far from Las Vegas. He rubbed his forehead
tenderly, and crawling to a spring a few feet distant, buried his face in
the tiny pool and drank deeply of the refreshing liquid. Very
deliberately he dried his face on a blue handkerchief, and fumbled in his
pockets for papers and tobacco. As he blew the grey smoke from his
nostrils he watched the half-breed who sat nearby industriously splicing
a pair of broken bridle reins.

"Did you get that ticket, Bat?" he asked, with a hand pressed tightly
against his aching forehead.

The other grinned. "Me, A'm no wan' no ticket. A'm lak A'm stay wit'
you, an' mebbe-so we git de job togedder."

The cowpuncher smoked for a time in silence.

"What was the rookus last night?" he asked, indifferently. Then,
suddenly, his eye fell upon the sorrel that snipped grass at the end of a
lariat rope near the picketed black, and he leaped to his feet. "Where'd
you get that horse?" he exclaimed sharply. "It's Fatty's! There's the
reins he busted when he snorted loose!"

Again the half-breed grinned. "A'm bor' dat hoss for com' 'long wit'
you. Dat