There were seventeen armed horsemen in the street waiting for the word from Norton.

“I’ll come back to you,” he said quietly to Virginia.  “Because after what you have done for me, I belong to you . . . if you want me.”

“I want you, Rod,” she answered steadily.  “And I know that you will come back to me.  And now . . . kiss me good night.”

She clung to him a moment, then pushed him from her and watched him swing up into the saddle and ride out among the men who were pledged and sworn to do his bidding.  As he did so Engle came to him.

“Going with us, John?” asked Norton.

“No,” said Engle.  “We haven’t found her yet, Rod.  I’ll try to pick up a trace of her here.  And . . . you’ll send a man to me if you find her?”

“Yes,” Norton promised.

“And if Galloway has got her . . .”

“I’ll know what to do, John,” said Norton gently.

Then, without again looking back, he turned his horse toward the north.  The seventeen men, riding two and three abreast, silent and grave for the most part, followed him.  The moon shone upon their rifle-barrels and made black, grotesque shadows underfoot.

Against the northern sky Mt.  Temple was lifted sharply outlined; from its crest a leaping flame was stabbing at the stars, a new signal-fire to be seen across many miles.

CHAPTER XXV

THE BATTLE IN THE ARROYO

Straight toward that wavering plume of flame in the north they rode swiftly, each man with his own thoughts and with few words.  But whether a man thought of Florrie Engle gone or of the shooting of Sheriff Roberts or of the looting of Las Vegas or of a ranch raided, he was like his fellows in that he knew that at last Jim Galloway had come out into the open and that to-night must be Galloway’s triumph or Galloway’s death.  And perhaps he wondered if his own saddle would run empty under the stars before another dawn.

Three or four miles from San Juan Norton made out an approaching rider, one who bent over his horse’s mane, racing furiously.  The figure, growing rapidly distinct as it drew on from the north, grew erect as the horseman saw Norton’s posse.  The rider jerked in his horse, pausing a moment as though in doubt whether he were meeting friend or foe.  Then, when again he came on at the same headlong gallop, Norton recognized him.  It was Elmer Page.

“They’re fighting back yonder!” cried the boy wildly, his eyes shining with his excitement.  “Brocky Lane sent me. . . .  I haven’t a rifle, who will give me a rifle?  I’ll give a man a hundred dollars for a rifle!”

“Easy, Elmer,” said Norton sharply.  “Tell us what Brocky sent you to say.  Where are they?”

“Along the arroyo just off to the east of Mt.  Temple.  About a mile from the mountain . . . you know where the biggest boulders are all strung out along the arroyo?  It’s there.  Brocky and a lot of cowboys are making a stand there, heading off the Kid and del Rio.  So they can’t get with the others, you know. . . .  Why didn’t somebody tell me about this?” he broke off, his voice shrill.  “I haven’t a rifle, just a cursed revolver.  Who will ...”