Why have you come?"

Their faces were so close that even through the night he could see the
grim set of her lips.

"Ain't you raised your hell--the hell you was hungry to raise? Don't you
need help?"

"What I've done is my own doing. I'll take the burden of it."

"You'll take a halter for it, that's what you'll take. The whole
range'll rise for this. You're marked already. Everywhere you've gone
you've made an enemy. They'll be out to get you--Nash--Boardman--the
whole gang."

"Let 'em come. I'd do this all over again."

"Born gunman, eh? Bard, you ain't got a week to live."

It was fierceness; it was a reproach rather than sorrow.

"Then let me go my own way. Why do you follow, Sally?"

"D'you know these mountains?"

"No, but----"

"Then they'd run you down in twelve hours. Where'll you head for?"

He said, as the first thought entered his mind: "I'll go for the old
house that Drew has on the other side of the range."

"That ain't bad. Know the short cut?"

"What cut?"

"You can make it in five hours over one trail. But of course you don't
know. Nobody but old Dan and me ever knowed it. Let go my bridle and
ride like hell."

She jerked the reins away from him and galloped off at full speed. He
followed.

"Sally!" he called.

But she kept straight ahead, and he followed, shouting, imploring her to
go back. Finally he settled to the chase, resolved on overtaking her. It
was no easy task, for she rode like a centaur, and she knew the way.

CHAPTER XXXI

NASH STARTS THE FINISH

Through the windows and the door the cowpunchers fled from the red
spurt of the flames, each man for himself, except Shorty Kilrain, who
stooped, gathered the lanky frame of Calamity Ben into his arms, and
staggered out with his burden. The great form of William Drew loomed
through the night.

His hand on the shoulder of Shorty, he cried: "Is he badly burned?"

"Shot," said Kilrain bitterly, "by the tenderfoot; done for."

It was strange to hear the big voice go shrill with pain.

"Shot? By Anthony? Give him to me."

Kilrain lowered his burden to the ground.

"You've got him murdered. Ain't you through with him? Calamity, he was
my pal!"

But the big man thrust him aside and knelt by the stricken cowpuncher.

He commanded: "Gather the boys; form a line of buckets from the pump;
fight that fire. It hasn't a hold on the house yet."

The habit of obedience persisted in Kilrain. Under the glow of the fire,