ace scratched by cactus thorns,
and with an arrow still hanging from his clothing--saw the indifference
in their eyes.

"Surely yuh'll go!" he pleaded. "Yuh--yuh've got to! My father's in
the coach!"

Garvey spoke up, smiling behind his mustache.

"What could we do against sixty Apaches?" he demanded. "Besides, the
men in the stage are dead ones by this time. We couldn't do any good."

Robbins' face went white. With clenched fists, he advanced toward
Garvey.

"Yo're cowards, that's all!" he cried. "Cowards! And yo're the
biggest one of 'em all!"

Garvey drew back his huge arm and sent his fist crashing into the
youth's face. Robbins, weak and exhausted as he was, went sprawling to
the floor.

And at that moment the swinging doors of the saloon opened wide. The
man who stood framed there, sweeping the room with cool, calm eyes, was
scarcely older than the youth who had been slugged down. His rather
long, fair hair was in contrast with the golden tan of his face. He
wore a shirt of fringed buckskin, open at the neck. His trousers were
tucked into silver-studded riding boots, weighted with spurs that
jingled in tune to his swinging stride. At each trim hip was the butt
of a .45 revolver.

The newcomer's eyes held the attention of the men in Garvey's Place.
They were blue and mild, but little glinting lights seemed to sparkle
behind them. He was silent for a long moment, and when he finally
spoke, it was in a soft, deliberate Southern drawl:

"Isn't it rathah wahm foh such violent exercise, gentlemen?"

Robbins, crimsoned at the mouth, raised on one elbow to look at the
stranger. Garvey's lips curled in a sneer.

"Are yuh tryin' to mind my business?" he leered.

"When I mind somebody else's business," said the young stranger softly,
"that somebody else isn't usually in business any moah."

Garvey caught the other's gaze and seemed to find something dangerous
there, for he drew back a step, content with muttering oaths under his
breath.

"What's the trouble?" the stranger asked Robbins quietly.

The youth seemed to know that he had found a friend, for he at once
told the story of the ambushed stage.

"I came here for help," he concluded, "and was turned down. These men
are afraid to go. My--my father's on that stage. Won't you help me?"

The stranger seemed to consider.

"Sho'," he drawled at length, "I'll throw in with you." He paused to
face the gathered company. "And these othah