le violent motion would free
him entirely. But he refrained from making that motion, feeling certain
that the man in the mask would give the signal when the time was ripe.

At last they discerned the loom of the trees against the low northern sky
and pulled their horses to a walk, until they arrived directly underneath
a big cottonwood, which stood in sinister readiness.

"Here's your last chance," said Parker in a low voice. "If you swear as we
have told you, you can go free now. We take a man's word out here."

"Never," replied Larkin firmly. "Don't waste time talking."

"Shore not," rejoined the other. "We always grant a man's last request.
Come on, boys, let's finish this thing quick."

He had hardly spoken when from the distance came the sound of rapid
revolver firing, mingled with the wild shouts of men. For a few moments
the drama beneath the cottonwood came to an abrupt halt.

"By gum!" cried Joe, "the Bar T punchers have found the boys and there's
the devil to pay back there. Lively, now."

One of the others took his lariat from the throng at the side of his
saddle and heaved the coil over an outstretched limb of the cottonwood. He
had hardly done so when another sound reached them, a low, menacing rumble
that grew momentarily louder until it reached a dull roar.

"A stampede!" bawled one of the men; "and it's heading this way."

Joe and the man in the mask still on their horses led Pinte directly
beneath the limb of the cottonwood, and the former reached down to take
the noose of the rope from the one who had arranged it. Suddenly Larkin
felt a hand fumbling with the rawhide about his arms, and a low voice in
his ear whispered: "Now."

With the same motion Bud wrenched his hands free and dug his spurs into
the sides of his horse. Pinte, startled, leaped forward just as Larkin
drew the revolver from his pocket.

Joe, though caught by surprise, did not let go of the bridle that was
wound about his right hand, but a blinding shot from the gun of the man in
the mask did the work. With a groan Parker pitched forward out of his
saddle and fell to the ground just as Larkin fired pointblank at the third
man who appeared before him, still on foot.

The fellow went down, but not until a yellow stab of light flashed up from
where he had been and Bud felt the wind of a bullet as it sped past his
cheek. The fourth man was nowhere to be seen.

The stranger in the mask and the man he had rescued were now alone,