"

He moved slowly forward. The Dinsmores stood fast, but the crowd sagged.
As the Ranger got closer there was a sudden break. Men began to scramble
for safety.

"Look out, Dinsmore," an excited voice cried. It belonged to Jumbo
Wilkins. "He'll blow you to hell an' back."

Both of the Dinsmores had a reputation for gameness in a country where
the ordinary citizen was of proved courage. With revolvers or rifles
they would have fought against odds, had done it more than once. But
dynamite was a weapon to which they were not used. It carried with it
the terror of an instant death which would leave them no chance to
strike back. Very slowly at first, a step at a time, they gave ground.

Roberts, as he moved with his prisoner, edged toward Wadley and his
group. He knew he had won, that the big cattleman and his friends would
close behind him in apparent slow pursuit, so adroitly as to form a
shield between him and the mob and thus prevent a rifle-shot from
cutting him down. The horses were in sight scarce half a hundred yards
away.

And in the moment of victory he shaved disaster. From the right there
came the pad of light, running feet and the rustle of skirts.

"Goddlemighty, it's 'Mona!" cried Wadley, aghast.

It was. Ramona had known that something was in the air when the Ranger
and her father held their conference in front of the house. Her aunt had
commented on the fact that Clint had taken from the wall a sawed-off
shotgun he sometimes carried by his saddle. The girl had waited,
desperately anxious, until she could stand suspense no longer.
Bareheaded, she had slipped out of the house and hurried toward the
jail in time to see the Ranger facing alone an angry mob. Without
thought of danger to herself she had run forward to join him.

Homer Dinsmore gave a whoop of triumph and rushed forward. The Ranger
could not play with dynamite when the life of Wadley's daughter was at
stake. His brother, Gurley, a dozen others, came close at his heels,
just behind Ramona.

The Ranger dropped the black sticks into his pocket and backed away,
screening his prisoner as he did so. The ex-Confederate who had come up
on the stage was standing beside Wadley. He let out the old yell of his
war days and plunged forward.

The Dinsmores bumped into the surprise of their lives. Somehow the man
upon whom they had almost laid clutches was out of reach. Between him
and them was a line of tough old-timers with drawn guns.

The owner