“Mebbe-so Choteau County lak’ to git de sher’ff w’at ain’ so mooch scairt.”

“Scairt!  Who’s scairt?  It hain’t that.  But I got a wife an’ nine kids back there in the mountains, an’ I’m a-goin’ to deputize you.”

The half-breed shot him a look of sudden alarm:  “Non! Non!  Better I lak’ I ponch de cattle.  You ke’p de nine wife an’ de kid!”

“You hain’t got no more sense than a reservation Injun!” growled the deputy.  “What I mean is, you got to help me make this here arrest!”

The half-breed grinned broadly:  “Me,—­A’m de, w’at you call, de posse, eh? Bien!  Com’ on ’long den.  Mebbe-so we no ketch, you no git ’lect for sher’ff.”

At the head of the trail the deputy checked his galloping mount with a jerk and scrutinized the three riderless horses that stood huddled together.  His face paled perceptibly.  “Oh, Lord!” he gasped between stiffening lips:  “It’s Tex, an’ Jack Purdy, an’ they’ve fit over Cinnabar Joe’s gal!”

He turned wrathfully toward Bat.  “Why’n you tell me who it was up here, so’s I could a gathered a man’s-size posse?” he demanded.  “Whichever one of them two has shot up the other, they hain’t goin’ to be took in none peaceable.  An’ if they’ve killed one of each other a’ready, he ain’t goin’ to be none scrupulous about pottin’ you an’ me.  Chances is, they’ve got us covered right now.  ’Tain’t noways percautious to go ahead—­an’ we don’t dast to go back!  Bat, this is a hell of a place to be—­an’ it’s your fault.  Mebbe they won’t shoot a unarmed man—­here Bat, you take my gun an’ go ahead.  I’ll tell ’em back there how you was game to the last.  O-O-o-o-o!  I got a turrible cramp in my stummick!  I got to lay down.  Do your duty, Bat, an’ if I surmise this here attact, which I think it’s the appendeetus, I’ll tell ’em how you died with yer boots on in the service of yer country.”  The man forced his six-shooter into the half-breed’s hand and, slipping limply from his saddle to the ground, wriggled swiftly into the shadow of a sage bush.

Bat moved his horse slowly forward as he peered about him.  “If Purdy keel de pilgrim, den A’m better look out.  He don’ lak’ me nohow, ‘cause A’m fin’ out ‘bout dat cinch.  Better A’m lak’ Sam Moore, A’m git de ’pendeceet in my belly for li’l w’ile.”  He swung off his horse and flattening himself against the ground, advanced cautiously from bush to bush.  At the edge of the depression he paused and stared at the two figures that huddled close together a few feet ahead.  Both were gazing toward the trail and in the moonlight he recognized the face of the pilgrim.  With a smile of satisfaction the half-breed stood erect and advanced boldly.

“You com’ in tam’, eh?” he asked, as with a nod Endicott stepped toward him and handed him the revolver.

“Yes, just in time.  I am deeply grateful to you.”

“Eh?” The other’s brows drew together.