Dick Gordon and Davis were sitting on the porch of their cabin, which was about an eighth of a mile from the main buildings of the Corbett place.  They had returned the day before from Santa Fe, along with two deputy sheriffs who had come to arrest Pablo and Sebastian.  The officers had scoured the valley for two days, and as yet had not caught a glimpse of the men they had come to get.  Their inquiries were all met by a dogged ignorance on the part of the Mexicans, who had of a sudden turned surprisingly stupid.  No, they had seen nothing of Pablo or of Sebastian.  They knew nobody of that name - unless it was old Pablo Gardiez the senors wished to see.  Many strangers desired to see him, for he was more than a hundred years old and still remembered clearly the old days.

Gordon laughed at the discomfiture of his sleuths.  “I dare say they may have been talking to the very men they wanted.  But everybody hangs together in this valley.  I’m going out with them myself to-morrow after the gentlemen the law requires.”

“No, I wouldn’t do that, Dick.  With every greaser in the valley simmering against you, it won’t do for you to go trapsing right down among them,” Davis explained.

“That’s where I’m going, anyhow - to-morrow morning.  The deputies are staying up at Morrow’s.  I’m going to phone ’em to-night that I’ll ride with them to-morrow.  Bet you a new hat we flush our birds.”

“What’s the sense of you going into the police business, Dick?  I’ll tell you what’s ailing you.  You’re just honing to see Miss Valdes again.  You want to go grand-standing around making her mad at you some more.”

“You’re a wiz, Steve,” admitted his friend dryly.  “Maybe you’re right.  Maybe I do want to see her again.  Why shouldn’t I?”

“What good does it do you when you quarrel all the time you’re together?  She’s declared herself already on this proposition - told the deputies flat-footed that she wouldn’t tell them anything and would help her boys to escape in any way she could.  You’re just like a kid showing off his muscle before a little girl in the first grade.”

“All right, Steve.  You don’t hear me denying it.”

“Denying it,” snapped the old miner.  “Hmp!  Lot of good that would do.  You’re fair itching to get a chance to go down to the ranch and swagger around in plain sight of her lads.  You’d be tickled to death if you could cut out the two you want and land them here in spite of her and Don Manuel and the whole pack of them.  Don’t I know you?  Nothing but vanity - that’s all there’s to it.”

“He’s off,” murmured Dick with a grin to the scenery.

“You make me tired.  Why don’t you try a little horse sense for a change?  Honest, if you was a few years younger I’d put you acrost my knee and spank you.”

Gordon lit a cigarette, but did not otherwise contribute to the conversation.

“Ain’t she wearing another man’s ring?” continued Davis severely.  “What’s bitin’ you, anyhow?  How many happy families you want to break up?  First off, there’s Pablo and Juanita.  You fill up her little noodle with the notion that - ”

Dick interrupted amiably.  “Go to grass, you old granny.  I’ve been putting in my spare time since I came back letting Juanita understand the facts.  If she had any wrong notions she ain’t got them any longer.  She’s all ready to kiss and make up with Pablo first chance she gets.”

“Then there’s Miss Valdes and this Pesky fellow, who’s the whitest brown man I ever did see.  Didn’t he run his fool laigs off getting you free so you could go back and make love to his girl?”

“He’s the salt of the earth.  I’m for Don Manuel strong.  But I don’t reckon Miss Valdes would work well in harness with him,” explained Dick.

Steve Davis snorted.  “No, you reckon Dick Gordon would, though.  Don’t you see she’s of his people - same customs, same ways, same - ”

“She’s no more of his people than she is of mine.  Her mother was an American girl.  She was educated in Washington.  New Mexico is in America, not in Spain.  Don’t forget that, you old croaker.”

“Well, she’s engaged, ain’t she?  And to a good man.  It ain’t your put in.”

“A good one, but the wrong one.  It’s a woman’s privilege to change her mind.  I’m here to help her change it,” announced the young man calmly.  “Say, look at Jimmie Corbett hitting the high spots this way.”

Jimmie, not yet recovered from a severe fright, stopped to explain the adventure that had befallen him while he had been night fishing.

“I seen spooks, Mr. Gordon - hundreds of ’em - coming down the river bank on horseback - honest to goodness, I did.”

“Jimmie, if I had your imagination - ”

But Davis cut into Dick’s smiling incredulity: 

“Did you say on horseback, Jimmie?”

“Yes, sir, on horseback.  Hope to die if they weren’t - ’bout fifty of them.”

“You better run along home before they catch you, Jimmie,” advised the old miner gravely.

The boy went like a streak of light.  Davis turned quietly to his partner.

“I reckon it’s come, Dick.”

“You believe the boy did see some men on horseback?  It might have been only shadows.”

“No, sir.  His imagination wouldn’t have put spooks on horseback.  We got no time to argue.  You going to hold the fort here or take to the hills?”

“You think they mean to attack us in the open?”

“They’re hoping to surprise us, I reckon.  That’s why they’re coming along the creek instead of the road.  Hadn’t ‘a’ been for Jimmie, they would have picked us off from the porch before we could say ’Jack Robinson.’”

Both men had at once stepped within the log cabin, and, as they talked, were strapping on ammunition belts and looking to their rifles and revolvers.

“There are too many doors and windows to this cabin.  We can’t hold it against them.  We’ll take the trail from the back door that leads up to the old spring.  From up there we’ll keep an eye on them,” said Dick.

“I see ’em coming,” cried the older man softly from the front window.  “They ain’t on the trail, but slipping up through the rocks.  One - two - three - four - Lord, there’s no end to the beggars!  They’re on foot now.  Left their hawsses, I expect, down by the river.”

Quietly the two men stepped from the back door of the cabin and swiftly ascended the little trail that rose at a sharp acclivity to the spring.  At some height above the cabin, they crouched behind boulders and watched the cautious approach of the enemy.

“Not taking any chances, are they?” murmured Gordon.

Steve laughed softly.

“Heard about that chicken-killing affair, mebbe, and none of them anxious to add a goose to the exhibit.”

“It would be right easy to give that surprise party a first-class surprise,” chuckled Dick.  “Shall I drop a pill or two down among them, just to let them know we’re on the premises?”

“Now, don’t you, Dick.  We’ll have to put half of ’em out of biz, and get shot up by the rest, if you do.”

“All right.  I’ll be good, Steve.  I was only joking, anyhow.  But it ce’tainly is right funny to sit up here and watch them snake up to the empty cabin.  See that fellow with the Mexican hat?  I believe it’s my jealous friend Pablo.  He’s ce’tainly anxious to get one Gringo’s scalp.  I could drop a stone down on him so he’d jump about ’steen feet.”

“There’s one reached the window.  He’s looking in mighty careful, you bet.  Now he’s beckoning the other fellows.  I got a notion he’s made a discovery.”

“Got on to the fact that the nest’s empty.  They’re pouring in like bees.  Can you make out how many there are?  I count nine,” said Dick.

“They’re having a powwow now.  All talking with their hands, the way greasers do.  Go to it, boys.  A regular debating society, ain’t you?”

“Hello!  What’s that mean?” broke in Gordon.

One of the Mexicans had left the rest, and was running toward the Corbett house.

“Gone to find whether we’re on the porch with the family, up there,” continued the young man, answering his own question.

“What’s the matter with beating it while we’ve got a chanct?”

“I’m going to stay right here.  You can go if you like, Steve?”

“Oh, well.  I just suggested it.”  Davis helped himself to a chew of tobacco placidly.

“Fellow coming back from the house already,” he presently added.

“Got the wrong address again.  They’ll be happening on the right one pretty soon.”

“Soon as they’re amply satisfied we ain’t under the beds, or hid between the covers of some of them magazines.  Blamed if they ain’t lit a lamp.”

Gordon gave a sudden exclamation of dismay.  A Mexican had appeared at the back door of the cottage with a tin box in his hand.

“I’m the blamedest idiot out of an asylum,” he cried bitterly.  “All the proofs of my claim are in that box.  You know I brought it back from Santa Fe with me.”

“Ain’t that too bad?”

Gordon rose, the lines of his mouth set fast and hard.

“I’m going down after it.  If I lose those papers, the whole game’s spoilt for me.  I’ve got to have them, and I’m going to.”

“Don’t be a goat.  How can you take it from a whole company of them?”

“I’ll watch my chance.  It may be the fellow will hide it somewhere till he wants it again.”

“I’m going, too, then.”

“See here, Steve.  Be sensible.  If we both go down, it’s a sure thing they will stumble on us.”

“Too late, anyhow.  They’re coming up after us.”

“So much the better.  We’ll cut across to the left, slip down, and take them in the rear.  Likely as not we’ll find it there.”

“All right.  Whatever you say, Dick.”

They slipped away into the semi-darkness, taking advantage of every bit of cover they could find.  Not until they were a long stone’s throw from the trail did the young miner begin the descent.

Occasionally they could hear voices over to the right as they silently slipped down.  It was no easy thing to negotiate that stiff mountainside in the darkness, where a slip would have sent one of them rolling down into the sharp rock-slide beneath.  Presently they came to a rockrim, a sheer descent of twenty-five feet down the perpendicular face of a cliff.

They followed the ledge to the left, hoping to find a trough through which they might discover a way down.  But in this they were disappointed.

“We’ll have to go back.  There’s a place we passed where perhaps it may be done.  We’ve got to try it, anyhow,” said Gordon, in desperation.

Retracing their steps, they came to the point Dick had meant.  It looked bad enough, in all conscience, but from the rocks there jutted halfway down a dwarf oak that had found rooting in a narrow cleft.

The young man worked his body over the edge, secured a foothold in some tiny scarp that broke the smoothness of the face, and groped, with one hand and then the other, for some hold that would do to brace his weight.  He found one, lowered himself gingerly, and tested another foothold in a little bunch of dry moss.

“All right.  My rifle, Steve.”

It was handed down.  At that precise moment there came to them the sound of approaching voices.

“Your gun, Steve!  Quick.  Now, then, over you come.  That’s right - no, the other hand - your foot goes there - easy, now.”

They stood together on a three-inch ledge, their heels projecting over space.  Nor had they reached this precarious safety any too soon, for already their pursuers were passing along the rim above.

One of them stopped on the edge, scarce eight feet above them.

“They must have come this way,” he said to a companion.  “But I expect they’re hitting the trail about a mile from here.”

“Si, Pablo.  Can you feed me a cigareet?” the other asked.

The men below, scarce daring to breathe, waited, while the matches glimmered and the cigarettes puffed to a glow.  Every instant they anticipated discovery; and they were in such a position that, if it came, neither of them could use his weapons.  For they were cramped against the wall with their rifles by their sides, so bound by the situation that to have lifted them to aim would have been impossible.

“The American - he has escaped us this time,” one of them said as they moved off.

“Maldito, the devil has given him wings to fly away,” replied Pablo.

After the sound of their footsteps had died, Gordon resumed his descent.  He reached the stunted oak in safety, and was again joined by his friend.

“Looks like we’re caught here, Steve.  There ain’t a sign of a foothold below,” the younger man whispered.

“Mebbe the branches of that tree will bend over.”

“We’ll have to try it, anyhow.  If it breaks with me, I’ll get to the bottom, just the same.  Here goes.”

Catching hold of the branches, he swung down and groped with his feet for a resting-place.

“Nothing doing, Steve.”

“What blamed luck!”

“Hold on!  Here’s a cleft, away over to the right.  Let me get a hold on that gun to steady me.  That’s all right.  The rest’s easy.  I’ll give you a hand across - that’s right.  Now we’re there.”

At the very foot of the cliff an unexplainable accident occurred.  Dick’s rifle went off with noise enough to wake the seven sleepers.

“Come on, Steve.  We got to get out of here,” he called to his partner, and began to run down the hill toward their cabin.

He covered ground so fast that the other could not keep up with him.  From above there came the crack of a rifle, then another and another, as the men on the ridge sighted their prey.  A spatter of bullets threw up the dirt around them.  Dick felt a red-hot flame sting his leg, but, though he had been hit, to his surprise he was not checked.

Topping the brow of a little rise, he caught sight of the cabin, and, to his consternation, saw that smoke was pouring from the door and that within it was alight with flames.

“The beggars have set fire to it,” he cried aloud.

So far as he could see, four men had been left below.  They did not at first catch sight of him as he dodged forward in the shadows of the alders at the foot of the hill.  Nor did they see him even when he stopped among the rocks at the rear, for their eyes were on Davis and their attention focused upon him.

He had come puffing to the brow of the hillock Gordon had already passed, when a shout from the ridge apprised those below of his presence.  Cut off above and below, there was nothing left for Steve but a retreat down the road.  He could not possibly advance in the face of four rifles, and he knew, too, that the best aid he could offer his friend was to deflect the attention of the watchers from him.

He fell back promptly, running from boulder to boulder in his retreat, pursued cautiously by the enemy.  His ruse would have succeeded admirably, so far as Dick was concerned, except for that young man himself.  He could not sit quiet and see his friend the focus of the fire.

Wherefore, it happened that the attackers of Davis were halted momentarily by a disconcerting fusillade from the rear.  The “American devil” had come out into the open, and was dropping lead among them.

At this juncture a rider galloped into view from the river gorge along which wound the road.  He pulled his jaded horse to a halt beside the old miner and leaped to the ground.

Without waiting an instant for their fire to cease, he ran straight forward toward the pursuing Mexicans.

As he came into the moonlight, Dick saw with surprise that the newcomer was Don Manuel Pesquiera.  He was hatless, apparently too unarmed.  But not for a second did this stop him as he sprinted forward.

Straight for the spitting rifles Don Manuel ran, face ablaze with anger.  He had covered half the distance before the weapons wavered groundward.

“Don Manuel!” cried Sebastian, perturbed by this apparition flying through the night toward them.

Dick waited only long enough to make sure that hostilities had for the moment ceased against his friend before beginning his search for the tin box.

He quartered back and forth over the ground behind the burning house without result, circled it rapidly, his eyes alert to catch the shine of the box in the moonbeams, and examined the space among the rocks at the base of the hill.  Nowhere did he see what he wanted.

“I’ll have to take a whirl at the house.  Some of them may have carried it back inside,” he told himself.

As he stepped toward the door, Don Manuel came round the corner.  At his heels were Steve and the four Mexicans who had but a few minutes before been trying industriously to exterminate the miner.

Don Manuel bowed punctiliously to Gordon.

“I beg to express my very great regrettance at this untimely attack,” he said.

“Don’t mention it, don.  This business of chasing over the hills in the moonlight is first-class for the circulation of the blood, I expect.  Most of us got quite a bit of exercise, first and last.”

Dick spoke with light irony; but one distraught half of his attention was upon the burning house.

“Nevertheless, you will permeet me to regret, senor,” returned the young Spaniard stiffly.

“Ce’tainly.  You’re naturally sore that you didn’t get first crack at me.  Don’t blame you a bit,” agreed Dick cheerfully but absently.  “Funny thing is that one of your friends happened to send his message to my address, all right.  Got me in the left laig, just before you butted in and spoiled their picnic so inconsiderate.”

“You are then wounded, sir?”

“Not worth mentioning, don.  Just a little accident.  Wouldn’t happen again in a thousand years.  Never did see such poor shots as your valley lads.  Say, will you excuse me just a minute?  I got some awful important business to attend to.”

“Most entirely, Senor Gordon.”

“Thanks.  Won’t be a minute.”

To Pesquiera’s amazement, he dived through the door, from which smoke poured in clouds, and was at once lost to sight within.

“He is a madman,” the Spaniard murmured.

“Or devil,” added Sebastian significantly.  “You will see, senor, he will come out safe and unharmed.”

But he did not come out at all, though the minutes dragged themselves away one after another.

“I’m going after him,” cried Davis, starting forward.

But Don Manuel flung strong arms about him, and threw the miner back into the hands of the Mexicans.

“Hold him,” he cried in Spanish.

“Let me go.  Let me go, I say!” cried the miner, struggling with those who detained him.

But Pesquiera had already gone to the rescue.  He, too, plunged through the smoke.  Blinded unable to breathe, he groped his way across the door lintel into the blazing hut.

The heat was intense.  Red tongues of flame licked out from all sides toward him.  But he would not give up, though he was gasping for breath and could not see through the dense smoke.

A sweep of wind brushed the smoke aside for an instant, and he saw the body of his enemy lying on the floor before him.  He stooped, tried to pick it up, but was already too far gone himself.

Almost overcome, he sank to his knees beside Gordon.  Close to the floor the air was still breathable.  He filled his lungs, staggered to his feet, and tried to drag the unconscious man across the threshold with him.

A hundred fiery dragons sprang unleashed at him.  The heat, the stifling smoke were more than flesh and blood could endure.  He stumbled over a fallen chair, got up and plowed forward again, still with that dead weight in his arms; collapsed again, and yet once more pulled himself to his feet by the sheer strength of the dogged will in him.

So, at last, like a drunken man, he reeled into safety, the very hair and clothes of the man on fire from the inferno he had just left.

A score of eager hands were ready to relieve him of his burden, to support his lurching footsteps.  Two of them were the strong brown hands of the woman he loved more than any other on earth, the woman who had galloped into sight just in time to see him come staggering from that furnace with the body of the man who was his hated rival.  It was her soft hands that smothered the fire in his hair, that dragged the burning coat from his back.

He smiled wanly, murmured “Valencia,” and fainted in her arms.

Gordon clutched in his stiffened fingers a tin box blistered by the heat.