d also come to
Lane that telephone messages hinted that Kid Rickard and his unit were
working further outlawry along the county line, headed toward Mt.
Temple.

There were seventeen armed horsemen in the street waiting for the word
from Norton.

"I'll come back to you," he said quietly to Virginia. "Because after
what you have done for me, I belong to you . . . if you want me."

"I want you, Rod," she answered steadily. "And I know that you will
come back to me. And now . . . kiss me good night."

She clung to him a moment, then pushed him from her and watched him
swing up into the saddle and ride out among the men who were pledged
and sworn to do his bidding. As he did so Engle came to him.

"Going with us, John?" asked Norton.

"No," said Engle. "We haven't found her yet, Rod. I'll try to pick up
a trace of her here. And . . . you'll send a man to me if you find
her?"

"Yes," Norton promised.

"And if Galloway has got her . . ."

"I'll know what to do, John," said Norton gently.

Then, without again looking back, he turned his horse toward the north.
The seventeen men, riding two and three abreast, silent and grave for
the most part, followed him. The moon shone upon their rifle-barrels
and made black, grotesque shadows underfoot.

Against the northern sky Mt. Temple was lifted sharply outlined; from
its crest a leaping flame was stabbing at the stars, a new signal-fire
to be seen across many miles.

CHAPTER XXV

THE BATTLE IN THE ARROYO

Straight toward that wavering plume of flame in the north they rode
swiftly, each man with his own thoughts and with few words. But
whether a man thought of Florrie Engle gone or of the shooting of
Sheriff Roberts or of the looting of Las Vegas or of a ranch raided, he
was like his fellows in that he knew that at last Jim Galloway had come
out into the open and that to-night must be Galloway's triumph or
Galloway's death. And perhaps he wondered if his own saddle would run
empty under the stars before another dawn.

Three or four miles from San Juan Norton made out an approaching rider,
one who bent over his horse's mane, racing furiously. The figure,
growing rapidly distinct as it drew on from the north, grew erect as
the horseman saw Norton's posse. The rider jerked in his horse,
pausing a moment as though in doubt whether he were meeting friend or
foe. Then, when again he came on at the same headlong gallop, Norton
recognized him. It was El