led," grumbled the other man.

"Mebbeso," replied Dinsmore curtly. "Saddle the horses, Steve."

"I dunno as I'm yore horse-rustler," mumbled Gurley, smothering his
sullen rage. None the less he rose slowly and shuffled away toward the
hobbled horses.

'Mona touched Dinsmore on the sleeve. Her soft eyes poured gratitude on
him. "I'll remember this as long as I live. No matter what anybody says
I'll always know that you're good."

The blood crept up beneath the tan of the outlaw's face. It had been
many years since an innocent child had made so naive a confession of
faith in him. He was a bad-man, and he knew it. But at the core of him
was a dynamic spark of self-respect that had always remained alight. He
had ridden crooked trails through all his gusty lifetime. His hand had
been against every man's, but at least he had fought fair and been loyal
to his pals. And there had never been a time when a good woman need be
afraid to look him in the face.

"Sho! Nothin' to that. I gotta take you home so as you won't be in the
way," he told her with a touch of embarrassed annoyance.

No man alive knew this country better than Homer Dinsmore. Every draw
was like its neighbor, every rolling rise a replica of the next. But the
outlaw rode as straight a course as if his road had been marked out for
him by stakes across the plains. He knew that he might be riding
directly toward a posse of Rangers headed for Palo Duro to round up the
stage robbers. He could not help that. He would have to take his chance
of an escape in case they met such a posse.

The sun climbed high in the heavens.

"How far do you think we are now from the ranch?" asked Ramona.

"Most twenty miles. We've been swingin' well to the left. I reckon we
can cut in now."

They climbed at a walk a little hill and looked across a wide sweep of
country before them. Ramona gave a startled cry and pointed an
outstretched finger at some riders emerging from a dry wash.

"'Paches!" cried Dinsmore. "Back over the hill, girl."

They turned, but too late. On the breeze there came to them a yell that
sent the blood from 'Mona's heart.

CHAPTER XXXVII

ON A HOT TRAIL

Roberts picked up from the fort a Mescalero Apache famous as a trailer.
He reckoned to be rather expert in that line himself, but few white men
could boast of such skill as old Guadaloupe had.

Jumbo Wilkins was one of the posse Jack had hastily gathered. "I'm good
an' glad I was in town an'