expected, a man whirled to meet him. The
unforeseen tactics of Dingwell had interfered with the ambush.

Dave catapulted into him head first and the two went down together.
Before Dingwell could grip the throat of the man beneath him, a second
body hurled itself through space at the cattleman. The attacked man
flattened under the weight crushing him, but his right arm swept around
and embraced the neck of his second assailant. He flexed his powerful
forearm so as to crush as in a vice the throat of his foe between it
and the hard biceps. The breath of the first man had for the moment
been knocked out of him and he was temporarily not in the fight. The
ranchman gave his full attention to the other.

The fellow struggled savagely. He had a gun in his right hand, but the
fingers of Dave's left had closed upon the wrist above. Stertorous
breathing gave testimony that the gunman was in trouble. In spite of
his efforts to break the hold that kept his head in chancery, the
muscles of the arm tightened round his neck like steel ropes drawn
taut. He groaned, sighed in a ragged expulsion of breath, and suddenly
collapsed.

Before he relaxed his muscles, Dingwell made sure that the surrender
was a genuine one. His left hand slid down and removed the revolver
from the nerveless fingers. The barrel of it was jammed against the
head of the man above him while the rancher freed himself from the
weight of the body. Slowly the cattleman got to his feet.

Vaguely he had been aware already that men were running toward the tree
clump. Now he heard the padding of their feet close at hand. He ran
to the horse and flung himself into the saddle, but before the animal
had moved two steps some one had it by the bridle. Another man caught
Dingwell by the arm and dragged him from the saddle. Before Dave could
scramble to his feet again, something heavy fell upon his head and
shook him to the heels. A thousand lights flashed in zigzags before
his eyes. He sank back into unconsciousness.

The cowman returned to a world of darkness out of which voices came as
from a distance hazily. A groan prefaced his arrival.

"Dave's waking up," one of the far voices said.

"Sure. When you tap his haid with a six-gun, you're liable to need
repairs on the gun," a second answered.

The next words came to Dingwell more distinctly. He recognized the
speaker as Hal Rutherford of the horse ranch.

"Too bad the boy had to hand you that cr