And Galloway had not yet joined his forces.

"Elmer," said Norton quickly, "ride on to San Juan. Tell John Engle
what you have told me about Galloway. Tell him . . ."

"I won't!" cried Elmer, on the verge of hysteria. "I won't do it. Do
it yourself; send some one else. I want to go with you; I want a
rifle, I tell you! Didn't I see Tommy Rudge go down with a bullet in
his belly? Didn't I see Denny when the Kid shot him?"

Norton laid a hand on Elmer's arm, speaking quietly.

"Listen, Elmer," he said. "We will do what we can where Brocky is.
But that isn't all of the devilment to-night. Galloway got Florrie
away somehow; she was the one riding with him toward the crossroads.
It's up to you to ride on and ride like the devil and tell John
Engle. . . . Come on, boys!"

Elmer sagged in his saddle as though he had been struck a heavy
physical blow.

"Galloway got Fluff!" he muttered dully.

His gaze trailed along after the departing posse. Norton on his big
roan was setting the pace, the steady swinging gallop to eat up the
miles swiftly and yet not kill the horses before the journey's end.
The others followed him, stringing out single file to take advantage of
the trail. The moon picked them out with clear relief, a grim line of
retribution. And yet the boy, while his eyes wandered after them, saw
only little Fluff struggling in Jim Galloway's arms. . . .

Then suddenly he, too, was riding, but at a pace which took no heed of
a horse's endurance, riding a gallant brute that stretched out its
neck, nostrils flaring, hammering hoofs beating out the very staccato
of urgent speed upon the flying sands. Already his revolver was tight
clinched in a lifted hand. Already he had swerved a little from the
distant lights of San Juan. He was taking the shortest line which led
to Denbar's crossroads.

"Galloway's got Fluff," he said over and over, choking on the words.

An hour later Norton heard the first spitting of rifles. Another
fifteen minutes of shod hoofs pounding through the broken hills and he
saw the first spurts of flame cutting through the shadows where the
trees clung to the arroyo. As he drew in his horse the men behind him
closed up about him. He threw out his arm, pointing.

"Brocky's boys must be right down there," he said sharply. "The Kid
and del Rio will be yonder; those are their horses. Young Page says
there are about fifty of them."

A fusillade of rifle-shots interrupted him.