A little apart from the others the Texan leaned against the wall.  The smoke from a limp cigarette which dangled from the corner of his lips curled upward, and through the haze of it Endicott saw that the man was smiling unpleasantly.  Their eyes met and Endicott turned toward the door in hope of finding the girl among the crowd that thronged the street.

Hardly had he reached the sidewalk when he felt a hand upon his arm, and turned to stare in surprise into the dark features of a half-breed,—­the same, he remembered, who had helped the Texan to saddle the outlaw.  With a swift motion of the head the man signalled him to follow, and turned abruptly into the deep shadow of an alley that led along the side of the livery bam.  Something in the half-breed’s manner caused Endicott to obey without hesitation and a moment later the man turned and faced him.

“You hont you ’oman?” Endicott nodded impatiently and the half-breed continued:  “She gon’ ridin’ wit Purdy.”  He pointed toward the winding trail.  “Mebbe-so you hur’ oop, you ketch.”  Without waiting for a reply the man slipped the revolver from his holster and pressed it into the astonished Endicott’s hand, and catching him by the sleeve, hurried him to the rear of the stable where, tied to the fence of the corral, two horses stood saddled.  Loosing one, the man passed him the bridle reins.  “Dat hoss, she damn good hoss.  Mebbe-so you ride lak’ hell you com’ long in tam’.  Dat Purdy, she not t’ink you got de gun, mebbe-so you git chance to kill um good.”  As the full significance of the man’s words dawned upon him Endicott leaped into the saddle and, dashing from the alley, headed at full speed out upon the winding, sandy trail.  On and on he sped, flashing in and out among the clumps of cottonwood.  At the rise of the trail he halted suddenly to peer ahead and listen.  A full minute he stood while in his ears sounded only the low hum of mosquitoes and the far-off grind of derrick wheels.

He glanced upward and for a moment his heart stood still.  Far above, on the rim of the bench, silhouetted clearly against the moonlight sky were two figures on horseback.  Even as he looked the figures blended together—­there was a swift commotion, a riderless horse dashed from view, and the next moment the sky-line showed only the rim of the bench.

The moon turned blood-red.  And with a curse that sounded in his ears like the snarl of a beast, Winthrop Adams Endicott tightened his grip upon the revolver and headed the horse up the steep ascent.

The feel of his horse labouring up the trail held nothing of exhilaration for Endicott.  He had galloped out of Wolf River with the words of the half-breed ringing in his ears:  “Mebbe-so you ride lak’ hell you com’ long in tam’!” But, would he “com’ long in tam’”?  There had been something of sinister portent in that swift merging together of the two figures upon the sky-line, and in the flash-like glimpse of the riderless horse.  Frantically he dug his spurless heels into the labouring sides of his mount.