“I say, I thank you—­for the gun, and for telling me——­”

“Ha, dat’s a’right.  W’er’ Purdy?” The girl shuddered, as Endicott pointed to the ground at some little distance away.  The man advanced and bent over the prostrate form.

“Ba goss!” he exclaimed with a glance of admiration.  “You shoot heem after de draw! Nom de Dieu!  You good man wit’ de gun!  Wer’ you hit heem?”

Endicott shook his head.  “I don’t know.  I saw him, and shot, and he fell.”  The half-breed was bending over the man on the ground.

“You shoot heem on he’s head,” he approved, “dat pret’ good place.”  He bent lower and a sibilant sound reached the ears of Endicott and the girl.  After a moment the man stood up and came toward them smiling.  “A’m fin’ out if she dead,” he explained, casually.  “A’m speet de tobac’ juice in he’s eye.  If she wink she ain’ dead.  Purdy, she don’ wink no mor’.  Dat damn good t’ing.”

Again Alice Marcum shuddered as Endicott spoke:  “Can you find our horses?” he asked.  “I must go to town and give myself up.”

“Oui, A’m git de hoss’ a’right.  Better you tak’ ’em an’ skeep off.  A’m git on dat posse an’ you bet we no ketch.  A’m lak’ you fine.”

“No!  No!” Endicott exclaimed.  “If I have killed a man I shall stand trial for it.  I won’t sneak away like a common murderer.  I know my act was no crime, let the decision of the jury be what it may.”

The half-breed regarded him with a puzzled frown.  “You mean you lak’ fer git arres’?” he asked in surprise.

“Why, of course!  I—­” the other interrupted with a laugh.

“A’right.  Dat de kin’ Sam Moore she lak’ fer arres’.  Sam, she layin’ back here a ways.  She dipity sher’ff, an’ we’n we com’ on dem hoss’, Sam she git to fink ‘bout he’s wife an’ kids.  He don’ fink ’bout dem mooch only w’en he git dronk, or git scairt.  Den he lov’ ’em lak’ hell, an’ he grab de beeg belly-ache, so dey don’ got for feel sorry ‘bout heem gittin’ keel.”

Slipping his own gun into its holster, the half-breed turned and walked toward the spot where he had left the deputy, and as he walked he threw open the cylinder of the officer’s gun and removed the cartridges.

“Sam!” he called sharply.  Cautiously a head raised from behind a sage bush.  “How long you t’ink dat tak’ you git well?  Wan man he lak’ for git arres’ w’en you git time.”

“Shut up!  Don’t talk so loud!  D’you want to git us killed?  Which one got it?”

“Purdy.  De pilgrim shoot heem ‘cause he run off wit’ he’s girl.”

“Pilgrim!  What pilgrim!  An’ what girl?  Ain’t that Tex Benton’s horse, an’ Cinnabar Joe’s——?”

“Uh-huh, A’m bor’ heem Tex boss for ketch Purdy.  An’, Ba goss, he shoot heem on he’s head after Purdy draw’d!”