ten feet away from the man who stood there, a captive in his car.

"Well, Searle," he said, "you're a better shot than I thought--and a
better driver. In fact you drive so almighty well I am going to let
you drive me back to camp." He arose from his seat. He was bleeding.
His left arm was all but useless. "Come down," he added. "Come down
and take my seat. And don't make the slightest error in etiquette,
Searle, or I'll see if a forty-some-odd ball will bounce when it lands
on your skull."

Bostwick had expected to be shot on the spot. No cornered rat could
have been more abjectly afraid. His nerve had oozed away the more for
the grimness of the man who stood before him--a man with such a wound
as that who was still the master of his forces!

He was terribly white. His teeth fairly chattered in his head. He had
played a desperate part--and lost. The race and this present
_denouement_ had shattered the man completely. He came down to the
ground and stood there, silently staring at Van.

Despite his show of strength Van stepped with difficulty to the back of
his car and seated himself within.

"Up in the seat there, Searle," he repeated, "and drive back at
moderate speed."

Bostwick's surrender was complete. He climbed to the driver's
position, still silently, and started the car in an automatic way that
knew no thought of resistance. At the rear of his head Van held the
gun, and back towards Goldite they rolled.

Two miles out the sheriff, in a borrowed car, grimly seated at the
driver's side, came bearing down upon them. The cars were halted long
enough for the sheriff to take his place with Searle, and then they
hastened on.

Christler had instantly seen that Van was wounded. He as quickly
realized that to rush Van to town and medical attendance was the only
possible plan.

He merely said, "You're hurt."

Van tried to smile. "Slightly punctured." He was rapidly losing
strength.

Christler thought to divert him. He shouted above the purring of the
car.

"Found Matt all right. I'm goin' to take him back to the State
authorities in that convict suit that's hangin' 'round the store."

Van was instantly aroused. "No you don't Bill! No you don't! I've
got use for those stripes myself. You'll buy Matt the best suit of
clothes in town, and charge the bill to me."

If Bostwick heard, or understood, he did not make a sign. He was
driving like a servant on the box, but he could not have