nd, but continued to stand at ease and
unalarmed.

The scream, however, released instantly the springs of his action. With
the heel of his left palm he dealt Bob so violent a shoving blow that
the young man was thrown forward off his feet. As part of the same
motion his right hand snatched his weapon from its holster, threw the
muzzle over his left shoulder, and discharged the revolver twice in the
direction from which Ware all at once realized the sound had proceeded.
So quickly did the man's brain act, so instantly did his muscles follow
his brain, that the scream, the blow, and the two shots seemed to go off
together as though fired by one fuse.

Bob bounded to his feet. Ware had whirled in his tracks, had crouched,
and was glaring fixedly across the openings at the forks. The revolver
smoked in his hand.

"Oh, are you hurt? Are you hurt?" Amy was crying over and over, as,
regardless of the stiff manzanita and the spiny deer brush, she tore her
way down the hill.

"All right! All right!" Bob found his breath to assure her.

She stopped short, clenched her hands at her sides, and drew a deep,
sobbing breath. Then, quite collectedly, she began to disentangle
herself from the difficulties into which her haste had precipitated her.

"It's all right," she called to Ware. "He's gone. He's run."

Still tense, Ware rose to his full height. He let down the hammer of his
six-shooter, and dropped the weapon back in its holster.

"What was it, Amy?" he asked, as the girl rejoined them.

"Saleratus Bill," she panted. "He had his gun in his hand."

Bob was looking about him a trifle bewildered.

"I thought for a minute I was hit," said he.

"I knocked you down to _get_ you down," explained Ware. "If there's
shooting going on, it's best to get low."

"Thought I was shot," confessed Bob. "I heard two shots."

"I fired twice," said Ware. "Thought sure I must have hit, or he'd have
fired back. Otherwise I'd a' kept shooting. You say he run?"

"Immediately. Didn't you see him?"

"I just cut loose at the noise he made. Why do you suppose he didn't
shoot?"

"Maybe he wasn't gunning for us after all," suggested Bob.

"Maybe you've got another think coming," said Ware.

During this short exchange they were all three moving down the wagon
trail. Ware's keen old eyes were glancing to right, left and ahead, and
his ears fairly twitched. In spite of his conversation and speculations,
he was fully alive to the possibiliti