arded
stirrups, his body rising in one magnificent straight line. A bleached
moustache hid the thin lips, and a gray sombrero threw a heavy shadow
across his eyes. Around his neck and over his open, blue flannel
shirt lay loosely a knotted silk kerchief, and on his thighs a pair of
open-flapped holsters swung uneasily with their ivory handled burdens.
He turned abruptly, raised his gun to his shoulder and fired, then
he laughed recklessly and patted his mount, which responded to
the confident caress by lying flatter to the earth in a spurt of
heart-breaking speed.

"I'll show 'em who they're trailin'. This is th' second time I've
started for Muddy Wells, an' I'm goin' to git there, too, for all th'
Apaches out of Hades!"

To the south another cloud of dust rapidly approached and the rider
scanned it closely, for it was directly in his path. As he watched it
he saw something wave and it was a sombrero! Shortly afterward a real
cowboy yell reached his ears. He grinned and slid another cartridge in
the greasy, smoking barrel of the Sharp's and fired again at the cloud
in his rear. Some few minutes later a whooping, bunched crowd of madly
riding cowboys thundered past him and he was recognized.

"Hullo, Frenchy!" yelled the nearest one. "Comin' back?"

"Come on, McAllister!" shouted another; "we'll give 'em blazes!" In
response the straining broncho suddenly stiffened, bunched and slid on
its haunches, wheeled and retraced its course. The rear cloud suddenly
scattered into many smaller ones and all swept off to the east. The
rescuing band overtook them and, several hours later, when seated around
a table in Tom Lee's saloon, Muddy Wells, a count was taken of them,
which was pleasing in its facts.

"We was huntin' coyotes when we saw yu," said a smiling puncher who was
known as Salvation Carroll chiefly because he wasn't.

"Yep! They've been stalkin' Tom's chickens," supplied Waffles, the
champion poker player of the outfit. Tom Lee's chickens could whip
anything of their kind for miles around and were reverenced accordingly.

"Sho! Is that so?" Asked Frenchy with mild incredulity, such a state of
affairs being deplorable.

"She shore is!" answered Tex Le Blanc, and then, as an afterthought, he
added, "Where'd yu hit th' War-whoops?"

"'Bout four hours back. This here's th' second time I've headed for this
place--last time they chased me to Las Cruces."

"That so?" Asked Bigfoot Baker, a giant. "Ain't they allus