r father in that band of
sharpshooters this morning?"

"No, he wasn't," blurted the boy. "And I wasn't, either."

"We'll see about that in the morning. Which of you rode a blaze-faced
sorrel?" Neither answered, and Hanscom said, contentedly: "Oh, well,
we'll see about _that_ in the morning."

Hanscom had drawn close to the girl, who remained as if paralyzed with
fright. "Senorita, I reckon I'll have to borrow one of your shoes for a
minute." As he stooped and laid hold of her slipper Busby fell upon him
with the fury of a tiger.

Hanscom was surprised, for he had considered the fellow completely cowed
by the loss of his revolver. He could have shot him dead, but he did
not. He shook him off and swung at him with the big seven-shooter which
he still held in his hand. The blow fell upon the young fellow's
cheek-bone with such stunning force that he reeled and fell to the
floor.

Young Kitsong cried out, "You've killed him!"

"What was he trying to do to me?" retorted Hanscom. "Now you take that
kerchief of yours and tie his hands behind him. If either of you makes
another move at me, you'll be sorry. Get busy now."

Young Kitsong obeyed, awed by the ranger's tone, and Busby was soon
securely tied. He writhed like a wildcat as his strength came back, but
he was helpless, for Hanscom had taken a hand at lashing his feet
together. There was something bestial in the boy's fury. He would have
braved the ranger's pistol unhesitatingly after his momentary daze had
passed, for he had the blind rage of a trapped beast, and his strength
was amazing.

During all this time the girl remained absolutely silent, her back
against the wall, as if knowing that her capture would come next.
Hanscom fully expected her to take a hand in the struggle, but he was
relieved--greatly relieved--by her attitude of non-resistance.

"Now, Henry," he said, with a breath of relief, "I can't afford to let
either you or the senorita out of my sight. I reckon you'll both have to
sit right here and keep me company till morning. Mebbe the senorita will
bustle about and make a pot of coffee--that'll help us all to keep
awake. But first of all I want both her slippers. Bring 'em to me,
Henry."

Kitsong obeyed, and the girl yielded the slippers, the soles of which
seemed to interest Hanscom very deeply.

He continued with polite intonation, "We'll all start down the valley at
daybreak."

"What do you want of me?" asked the girl, hoarsely.

"I w