ht. Almost instantly it vanished. Outside they heard running feet.

"How about a get-away now?" Gavin demanded. "He's gone to get help. I
know him. He's a clerk in Park's law office."

"I guess that settles it," Gerald concurred coolly. Swiftly he scooped
the remaining currency into the sack. "Well," he added, "we've got
something to make a get-away on."

"Come on, come on," young Larry urged.

"Keep cool," said Gerald.

"If you'd kept cool," the younger man retorted, "we could have bluffed
Braden."

But none of them voiced a regret for Braden himself. His death, if he
was dead, was to be deplored merely as it might affect them. Gavin
turned the huddled figure over and swore afresh.

"You're too smooth with a gun, Jerry. He isn't dead yet, but I guess
he's got his. Now we have to beat it."

They emerged on the streets and ran for their horses, tethered on the
outskirts of town, mounted and pounded off on the trail toward the
ranch. They rode fast, but without forcing their horses, for later they
would need all that was in the animals.

The ranch was dark as they rode up to it. They loosened cinches, removed
bridles and gave the horses feed. Entering the house they began to throw
an outfit together.

Gavin, mounting the stairs, knocked at his sister's door.

"I want to talk to you, Kit."

"In the morning."

"No, now."

"Come in, then."

She sat up in bed as he struck a match and lit the lamp. As he turned to
her the big man's cold, blue eyes softened a shade in expression. He sat
on the side of the bed and put his arm around her.

"Kittens, old girl, I've only got minutes. Jerry, Larry and I have got
to pull out." He told her why, bluntly, feeling her body tense and
stiffen. "So that was how it was," he concluded. "And now here's what
we're going to do: We're going to break north through the hills and work
up into the Cache River Valley. Then we'll go east or west, whichever
looks best. We may split up, or not. Here's some money--no, no, this is
all right. Braden never saw this. It's mine. Don't give any of it to
Blake. And here's what you do: This place is sunk with a mortgage, so
sell your own horses and quit it. Let the tail go with the hide. Get out
of here, and wherever you go subscribe for the _Pacific Spokesman_. Read
the 'lost' column every day, and when you see an ad. for a lost horse
with our brand, answer it. I'll be doing that advertising. I guess
that's all. I'm sorry, Kit, but it's the