the
wrangler. It would not do to leave the boy with a story of two riders in
such a hurry to hit the trail that they could not wait to feed their
bronchos. So they stuck it out while the animals ate, though they were
about as contented as a two-pound rainbow trout on a hook. One of them was
at the door all the time to make sure the way was still clear. At that
they shaved it fine, for as they rode away two men were coming down the
street.

"Kite Bonfils," Curly called to his partner.

No explanation was needed. Bonfils was the foreman of the Bar Double M. He
let out a shout as he caught sight of them and began to run forward.
Simultaneously his gun seemed to jump from its holster.

Mac's quirt sang and his pony leaped to a canter in two strides. A bullet
zipped between them. Another struck the dust at their heels. Faintly there
came to the fugitives the sound of the foreman's impotent curses. They had
escaped for the time.

Presently they passed the last barb wire fence and open country lay before
them. It did not greatly matter which direction they followed, so long as
they headed into the desert.

"What we're looking for is a country filled with absentees," Curly
explained with a grin.

Neither of them had ever been in serious trouble before and both regretted
the folly that had turned their drunken spree into a crime. Once or twice
they came to the edge of a quarrel, for Mac was ready to lay the blame on
his companion. Moreover, he had reasons why the thing he had done loomed
up as a heinous offense.

His reasons came out before the camp fire on Dry Sandy that evening. They
were stretched in front of it trying to make a smoke serve instead of
supper. Mac broke a gloomy silence to grunt out jerkily a situation he
could no longer keep to himself.

"Here's where I get my walking papers I reckon. No rustlers need apply."

Curly shot a slant glance at him. "Meaning--the girl?"

The redheaded puncher nodded. "She'll throw me down sure. Why shouldn't
she? I tell you I've ruined my life. You're only a kid. What you know
about it?"

He took from his coat pocket a photograph and showed it to his friend. The
sweet clean face of a wholesome girl smiled at Curly.

"She's ce'tainly a right nice young lady. I'll bet she stands by you all
right. Where's she live at?"

"Waits in a restaurant at Tombstone. We was going to be married soon as we
had saved five hundred dollars." Mac swallowed hard. "And I had to figure