across the gleaming interval between the two
parties waving Prather's handkerchief. Leddy rose on his knee watchfully,
rifle in hand, while he spoke with Nogales. Then Nogales started back
with his head thrown up jubilantly, but stopped when he was within
calling distance and sang out, truculently:

"Leddy get you both! He get everything!"

He turned on his heel and soon was another lump around the water-hole.

"That makes nine, Firio!" said Jack.

He smiled in relief to be rid of Nogales; smiled in happy confidence, as
if he were truly the ancestor's child.

"_Si_!" answered Firio, as if he had just as soon there were a regiment
against them. He was happy beyond words. He patted his rifle barrel; he
spread out his big red bandanna beside his elbow and on it nicely
arranged a couple of extra charges of cartridges.

Prather remained flat on the bottom of the _arroyo_, overwhelmed. It was
some time before he could speak.

"I--I don't understand! It isn't possible!" he said finally.

"Everything is possible with Leddy. It seems that there can be peace
between him and me in this valley in only one way," Jack answered.

"But me! I suppose he found out that I--" Prather stopped without
finishing the sentence. "What am I to do?" he asked Jack in livid appeal.

"Why, it is three against nine, if you choose!" Jack answered. "You have
a rifle, and it is for your life."

"My life!" Prather gasped, another wave of fear submerging him.

"Yes. We have no horses with which to make our escape and we should be
winged as soon as we exposed ourselves. Leddy means that we shall die of
thirst, or die fighting."

Through all this dialogue Jack had been speaking to the head that lay
between his eye and a target. As Prather reached up a trembling hand to
take his rifle from the back of his burro one of the lumps around the
water-hole rose, possibly to change position. When it became the
silhouette of a kneeling man, Jack fired and the figure plunged forward
like an automaton that had had its back broken.

"Eight!" whispered Firio.

"Duck!" Jack told him; for a response instantly came in a volley that
kicked up the dust around their heads.

But Jack's rifle lay in limp hands.

"Eight!" he repeated, dazedly. "And I shot to kill--to kill!"

His face blanched with horror at the thing that he had done. It seemed as
if the strength had been struck out of him. He appeared ready to let
destiny overtake him rather than fire again.