rs were going to make a stand, but presently their purpose
became clear to those in pursuit. The one that Billie had picked for a
renegade white dropped from the horse upon which he was riding double and
swung up behind the captive. The huddle of men and ponies opened up and
was in motion again toward the head of the valley.

But though the transfer had been rapid, it had taken time. The pursuers,
thundering across the valley, had gained fast. Rifles barked back and
forth angrily.

The Indians swerved sharply to the left for the mouth of a canon. Here
they pulled up to check the cowboys, who slid from their saddles to use
their ponies for protection.

"That gorge to the right is called Escondido Canon," explained Prince.
"We combed it for cattle last year. About three miles up it runs into the
one where the 'Paches are! Don't remember the name of that one."

"I'll give it a new name," answered the boy. He raised his rifle, rested
it across the back of his pony, and took careful aim. An Indian plunged
from his horse. "Shoot-a-Buck Canon--how'll that do for a name?" inquired
Thursday with a grin.

Prince let out a whoop. "You got him right. He'll never smile again.
Shoot-a-Buck Canon goes."

The Indians evidently held a hurried consultation and changed their minds
about holding the gorge against such deadly shooting as this.

"They're gun-shy," announced Thursday. "They don't like the way we fog
'em and they're goin' to hit the trail, Billie."

After one more shot Prince made the mistake of leaving the shelter of his
horse too soon. He swung astride and found the stirrup. A puff of smoke
came from the entrance to the gulch. Billie turned to his friend with a
puzzled, sickly smile on his face. "They got me, kid."

"Bad?"

The cowboy began to sag in the saddle. His friend helped him to the
ground. The wound was in the thigh.

"I'll tie it up for you an' you'll be good as new," promised his friend.

The older man looked toward the gorge. No Indians were in sight.

"I can wait, but that little girl in the hands of those devils can't. Are
you game to play a lone hand, kid?" he asked.

"I reckon."

"Then ride hell-for-leather up Escondido. It's shorter than the way they
took. Where the gulches come together be waitin' an' git 'em from the
brush. There's just one slim chance you'll make it an' come back alive."

The boy's eyes were shining. "Suits me fine. I'll go earn that name I
christened myself--Jimmie-Go-