ir scheme. The
man-hunt had tuned their pulses to a high pitch. They wanted to lay
hands on Gary's slayer--to disarm him and bring him into the town of
Concho themselves--or, if he showed fight, to "get" him. They forgot
that he was little more than a boy. He was an enemy--and potently
dangerous.

"It's Young Pete," said a cowboy. "I know him by that black hat."

Plying quirt and spur the posse flung down the ridge and out across the
plain below. They would ride their quarry down before he reached the
boundary of the Concho--before he got among his friends.

Andy turned and glanced back. They were gaining on him. He knew that
his own horse was doing his best. Again he glanced back. The riders
were forcing their horses to a terrific pace that could not last long.
In a mile or so they would be close enough to use their rifles. But
the harder they rode the better Andy liked it. They would be in sorry
shape to make the long ride south after Pete, when they realized that
they were chasing the wrong man. If he could get out of it without
getting shot, he would consider himself lucky. Ahead of him lay a flat
of brushless land offering no shelter. He hoped that his horse would
not be killed by a chance shot. In that event his pride would force
him to retaliate, until he was either killed or captured. He had about
made up his mind to rein up and surrender when he heard the singing
_whizz-zip_ of a bullet that sprayed sand ahead of him. Then came the
faint _pop_ of a rifle far behind. He pulled up, swiftly unbuckled his
belt, and hung his gun on the saddle-horn. Then he stepped away from
his horse--an unconsciously fine thing to do--and turned toward the
distant posse. Again came that shrill, sinister _whizz-zip_ and he was
standing bareheaded in the glaring sun as the black sombrero spun round
and settled lightly in the sand beside him. He wisely thrust up his
hands--arguing that if the posse could see to shoot with such accuracy
they could see and possibly appreciate his attitude. He felt outraged,
and wanted to fight. He did not realize at the moment that his
pursuers were acting in good faith according to their viewpoint.

Meanwhile they flung toward him, spreading out fanwise in case of some
possible treachery. Without moving a muscle Andy stood with his hands
raised, blinkingly trying to identify each individual rider.

There was Houck on his big gray cow-horse. To the left rode Simpson,
known