d an inexplicable impulse of generosity surged
over him. The sheriff would be pleased to do the rest himself, he thought,
and the thought was father to the act. He picked up the Winchester he
had brought with him and fired at the bowlder, only wishing to let the
Apaches know his position so that they would think the way clear to
the northwest, and so innocently give the sheriff a shot at them as
they retreated. Dropping the Winchester he took up his Sharps, his pet
rifle, with which he had done wonderful shooting, and arose to one
knee, supporting his left elbow on the other; between the fingers of
his left hand he held a cartridge in order that no time should be lost in
reloading. The range was now five hundred yards, and when The Orphan knew
the exact range he swore with rage if he missed.

His shot had the effect he hoped it would have, for suddenly there was
movement behind the bowlder. A pony's hip showed for an instant and
then leaped from sight as the outlaw reloaded. A cloud of dust arose to
the northwest of and behind the bowlder, and a series of close reports
sounded from the direction of the sheriff. The Orphan leaped to his feet
and dashed out on the plain to where his sight would not be obstructed
and saw an Apache, who hung down on the far side of his horse, sweep
northward and gallop along the northern trail. He fired, but the range
was too great, and the warrior soon dropped from sight over the range
of hills. As The Orphan made his way toward the bowlder the sheriff
emerged from his shelter and pointed to the west. A pony lay on its side
and not far away was the huddled body of its rider.

As they neared each other the outlaw noticed something peculiar about
the sheriff's ear, and his look of inquiry was rewarded. "Stung,"
remarked Shields, grinning apologetically. "Just as I shot," he added in
explanation of the Apache's escape. "Wonder what my wife'll say?" he
mused, nursing the swelling.

The Orphan's eyes opened a trifle at the sheriff's last words, and he
thought of the war party he had sent north. His decision was immediate:
no married man had any business to run risks, and he was glad that he
refrained from shooting on sight.

"Sheriff, you vamoose. Clear out now, while you have the chance. Ride west
for an hour, and then strike north for Ford's Station. That buck that got
away is due to run into twenty-seven of his friends and relatives that I
sent north to meet you. And they won't waste any