Ortez vaqueros were riding out to take charge.  But something was happening over near the Olla gate.  The American cowboys had scattered and were riding hard, and behind them faint flashes cut the dusk and answering flashes came from those who fled.  The lieutenant shouted and spread his arms, signaling Arguilla to stop as he and his men swung round the mouth of the coulee below.  Some thirty riders from the T-Bar-T, the Blue Range, and the Concho swept through the gateway and began shooting at the Ortez vaqueros.  Arguilla saw that his own plan had gone glimmering.  Ortez had in some way played the traitor.  Moreover, they were all on American territory.  The herd had stampeded and scattered.  In the fading light Arguilla saw one after another of the Ortez vaqueros go down.  Did this noble captain of Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity rush to the rescue of his countrymen?  He did not.  Cursing, he swung his horse toward the south, followed by his amazed and altogether uncomprehending soldiery.  There had been too many Gringoes in that wild, shrilling cavalcade to suit his fancy.  Meanwhile the Mexican lieutenant wisely disappeared down the western edge of the coulee and rode wide until he deemed it safe to change his course and follow in the dusty wake of his noble leader’s “strategic retreat.”

Only one of the Ortez riders escaped the sudden and furious visitation of the northern cattlemen, and he escaped because his horse, mortally wounded, had fallen upon him.  In the succeeding darkness he was passed unnoticed by the returning Americans.

The Olla men, also taken by surprise, had acted quickly.  Better mounted than most of their pursuers, who rode tired horses, the Olla riders spread at the first warning shout.  Familiar with the country, they were able to get away unscathed, partly because the attention of the pursuers was centered chiefly on the herd.

It had been a case of each man for himself with the Olla riders, the exceptions to this being Brevoort and Pete, who had ridden together from the moment that Pete had shouted that sudden warning to his companions at the gateway, where they had sat their horses waiting for him to return from his mission to Ortez.  Brent himself had posted a lookout at the northern gateway of the ranch, with instructions to watch for any possible pursuit.  This cowboy, wise in his generation, had caught sight of a large body of riders bearing down from the north.  He knew by the way they rode that they meant business.  He knew also that they were too many for the Olla men.  He focused his glass on them, got one good look, and calmly turned his horse and rode along the line fence to an arroyo, where he dismounted and waited until the visiting gentlemen had got well onto the Olla territory.  Then he mounted and took his leisurely way toward space.  He knew that the Olla, as a safe and paying proposition, had ceased to exist.