“This does not seem to be a shooting affair,” Endicott answered, “and it is my own private opinion that Tex is abundantly able to take care of himself.  Ah—­he got him that time!  He’s down for the count!  Good work, Tex, old man!  A good clean knockout!”

The two watched as the men mounted and rode their several ways—­the stranger swinging northward toward the mountains, and the Texan following along the south face of the butte.

“Some nice little meetings they have out here,” grinned Endicott.  “I wonder if the vanquished one was a horse-thief or just an ordinary friend.”

Alice returned the smile:  “You used to rather go in for boxing in college, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yes.  I can hold my own when it comes to fists——­

“And—­you can shoot.”

The man shook his head:  “Do you know that was the first time I ever fired a pistol in my life.  I don’t like to think about it.  And yet—­I am always thinking about it!  I have killed a man—­have taken a human life.  I did it without malice—­without forethought.  All I knew was that you were in danger, then I saw him fling you from him—­the pistol was in my hand, and I fired.”

“You need have no regrets,” answered the girl, quickly.  “It was his life or both of ours—­worse than that—­a thousand times worse.”

Endicott was silent as the two turned toward the plateau.  “Why, there’s Bat’s horse, trotting over to join the others, and unsaddled, too,” cried Alice.  “He has beaten Tex to camp.  Bat is a dear, and he just adores the ground Tex walks on, or ‘rides on’ would be more appropriate, for I don’t think he ever walked more than a hundred feet in his life.”

Sure enough, when they reached camp there sat the half-breed placidly mending a blanket, with the bored air of one upon whom time hangs heavily.  He looked up as Endicott greeted him.

“Mebbe-so dat better you don’ say nuttin’ ‘bout A’m gon’ ’way from here,” he grinned.  “Tex she com’ ‘long pret’ queek, now.  Mebbe-so he t’ink dat better A’m stay roun’ de camp.  But Voila!  How A’m know he ain’ gon for git hurt?”

“But he did—­” Alice paused abruptly with the sentences unfinished, for the sound of galloping hoofs reached her ears and she looked up to see the Texan swing from his horse, strip off the saddle and bridle and turn the animal loose.

“Oh,” she cried, as the man joined them after spreading his saddle blanket to dry.  “Your eyes are swollen almost shut and your lip is bleeding!”

“Yes,” answered the cowboy with a contortion of the stiff, swollen lip that passed for a smile.  “I rounded the bend in a coulee down yonder an’ run plumb against a hard projection.”

“They certainly are hard—­I have run against those projections myself,” grinned Endicott.  “You see, we had what you might call ringside seats, and I noticed that it didn’t take you very long to come back with some mighty stiff projecting yourself.”