and scarcely
batted an eye.

At last Soapy gave up the hunt. The engine and the express car were sent
back to join the rest of the train and as soon as they were out of sight
the robbers set out across country toward the Flatiron ranch.

Curly guessed their intentions. They would rustle horses there and head
for the border. It was the only chance still left them.

After they had gone Curly and his prisoner returned to the road and set
out toward Tin Cup. About a mile and a half up the line they met Cullison
and his riders on the way down. Maloney was with them. He had been picked
up at the station.

Dick gave a shout of joy when he heard Flandrau's voice.

"Oh, you Curly! I've been scared stiff for fear they'd got you."

Luck caught the boy's hand and wrung it hard. "You plucky young idiot,
you've got sand in your craw. What the deuce did you do it for?"

They held a conference while the Circle C riders handcuffed Dutch and tied
him to a horse. Soon the posse was off again, having left the prisoner in
charge of one of the men. They swung round in a wide half circle, not
wishing to startle their game until the proper time. The horses pounded up
hills, slid into washes, and plowed through sand on a Spanish trot,
sometimes in the moonlight, more often in darkness. The going was rough,
but they could not afford to slacken speed.

When they reached the edge of the mesa that looked down on the Flatiron
the moon was out and the valley was swimming in light. They followed the
dip of a road that led down to the corral. Passing the fenced lane leading
to the stable, they tied their ponies inside and took the places assigned
to them by Cullison.

They had not long to wait. In less than half an hour three shadowy figures
slipped round the edge of the corral and up the lane. Each of them carried
a rifle in addition to his hip guns.

They slid into the open end of the stable. Cullison's voice rang out
coldly.

"Drop your guns!"

A startled oath, a shot, and before one could have lifted a hand that
silent moonlit valley of peace had become a battlefield.

The outlaws fell back from the stable, weapons smoking furiously.
Blackwell broke into a run, never looking behind him, but Soapy and Bad
Bill gave back foot by foot fighting every step of the way.

Dick and Curly rose from behind the rocks where they had been placed and
closed the trap on Blackwell. The paroled convict let out one yell.

"I give up. Goddlemighty,