Slim vaulted over the wheel and into the wagon. He picked up the body of the rancher and passed the inert form down to Chuck. The news of the runaway spread rapidly and a crowd was gathering. Hal Titzell shouted for the doctor and the only physician in the entire valley, “Doc” Baldridge, appeared in the doorway of his office, a half block down the street from the Palace Hotel.

“Bring him over here,” he called.

Chuck, carrying the unconscious rancher, hurried to the physician’s office where he placed Adam Marks on the old cot. The white hair of the cattleman was streaked with dried blood and his breathing was slow and irregular.

“Looks bad,” said Hal Titzell, shaking his head.

Slim was watching the doctor, now working over his patient with practiced hands. He called for hot water from the hotel and a bystander hurried away to return shortly with a steaming kettle of water.

There was nothing Slim and Chuck could do in the doctor’s office and they stepped outside.

“I’ll see that the team’s cared for,” said Chuck, leading the exhausted animals back toward the stable.

Slim, leaning against the hitching rail in front of the doctor’s office, stared into the blackness across Stony creek, wondering what secret it held of the attack which had struck down the cattleman. Chuck returned presently and they conversed in low tones.

“I found his rifle and revolver in the bottom of the wagon,” said Chuck. “The six gun must have fallen out of his holster. Neither one had been fired, which means he was ambushed.”

“I expected as much. The gang we’re up against doesn’t give a man a chance.”

Slim paused suddenly. Hal Titzell emerged from the doctor’s office.

“What’s the news?” asked Chuck.

“A little too early to say definitely,” replied the cattle buyer. “Adam’s been creased pretty deeply by a rifle bullet along the right side of his head. Doc thinks he may pull through but it’s going to be tough going.”

“Maybe we ought to ride outside and get a better doctor,” suggested Chuck, who had little faith in Dirty Water or anyone connected with it.

“No need to do that,” assured Titzell. “Doc Baldridge may not look like much, but when it comes to fixing up gunshot wounds he’s a marvel.”

It was evident that it would be a good many hours before Adam Marks regained consciousness and could tell what had happened, so the small group gradually dispersed leaving Slim and Chuck.

“You’d better roll in,” said Slim. “I’m going to hang around until I can find what’s happened.”

“All night?”

“If necessary. If the fellow that wounded him finds he didn’t do a thorough job, he may decide to sneak back and finish him.”

Chuck whistled softly. “That’s an idea. Tell you what. I’ll turn in for a few hours and then come down around two and relieve you.”

Chuck went to the hotel and Slim re-entered the doctor’s office. Doc Baldridge had drawn a chair up beside a table on which a kerosene lamp burned softly. On the cot across the room was the motionless form of the owner of the Box B.

“One of Adam’s riders?” asked the doctor.

“Nope. Just drifting and looking for a job. I’d kind of hoped to get on with the Box B.”

Doc Baldridge laid down his book and stared thoughtfully at Slim over his spectacles.

“Don’t be a fool,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. It’s doggoned near fatal to start riding for the Box B these days. Look what happened to the owner of the outfit.” He jerked his thumb toward the rancher.

“If the pay’s good, I’m willing to take the chance,” grinned Slim. “I’ll just stick around and when he comes to he may be crazy enough to hire me and my pardner.”

Doc Baldridge resumed his reading and Slim sat down beside the wounded man to begin what might be an all night vigil.

Hal Titzell looked in an hour later.

“You must want a job,” he said to Slim.

“I’m going to get one if patience will bring it,” grinned the Flying Arrow puncher.

“Maybe I could find something for you to do,” suggested Titzell.

“Thanks. If this doesn’t pan out, I may be around.”

The cattle buyer left and Doc Baldridge, without looking up from his book, spoke softly.

“Keep away from Titzell. He’s poison.”

Slim smiled and gave no sign that he had heard the warning from the doctor. He had already put the suave Titzell down as a dangerous man.

It was nearly one o’clock when Adam Marks opened his eyes. His fever had dropped and his mind seemed clear. Slim spoke to the doctor, who shut his book and went to the cot.

“How about it, doc?” asked the cattleman.

“You’re too tough for one rifle bullet to kill,” replied the doctor, “but you’re going to be laid up for a few days. What happened?”

“Bushwhacked,” was the slow reply. “It was almost dark and just at the mouth of Wolf coulee. The first shot missed me. I started for my gun but the second one got me. How’d I get here?”

“The team brought you in. They must have run all of the way. Good thing they did.”

“This will leave the boys at the ranch in a tough spot,” said Marks.

“Maybe you could use a couple of extra hands,” said Slim hopefully.

“I could if they were good, honest men.”

“I’m one of them and I’ll vouch for my pardner. I’m off the Flying Arrow and he’s from the Circle Four. We want work.”

“There’s more than work at my ranch. There’s apt to be fighting soon. I’m being stolen blind and the day I catch up with the rustlers there’s going to be bloodshed.”

“I’ll work and fight for an honest boss.”

The cattleman seemed to be mulling something over in his mind. Then he asked, “You say you’re off the Flying Arrow?”

Slim nodded.

“Fellow named Evans used to own that outfit. Maybe you know him.”

“My name’s Evans. I’m his son.”

Marks’ eyes twinkled beneath the heavy bandage.

“Then you’re hired and so is your friend. I wish I could get a dozen more like you.”

“I don’t think you’ll need a dozen more,” said Slim quietly. “I’ll start for the ranch now and my pardner will come down and stay with you. When he thinks it’s safe to leave you, give him any orders you have and he’ll ride out.”

“Joe Haines is my riding boss. Tell Joe I sent you. I’ve only got four men now. Others have either been shot up or scared away, but I guess you won’t scare.”

“I don’t like to run,” grinned Slim.

The Flying Arrow rider left the doctor’s office and hurried to the hotel. A dim light was burning in the lobby, but there was no one about. He shook Chuck out of a deep sleep and informed him that they were on the payroll of the Box B.

“Have any trouble getting on?” asked Chuck.

“Not a bit. I told him where I was from and he’s heard of Dad. I’m starting for the ranch now. You stay here and keep watch on Marks. He’ll be safe enough in the day time but don’t let him out of your sight at night.”

Chuck pulled on his clothes, examined his six gun and rifle, and prepared to take up his vigil at the doctor’s office.

The cowboy detectives parted outside the hotel.

“Watch your step,” cautioned Chuck. “I don’t want to see you brought into Doc Baldridge’s office with a hole through you.”

“I’ll be careful,” promised Slim.

The Flying Arrow rider wakened the stableman and inquired the way to the Box B.

“It’s a nine mile trip, but the trail’s clear. You’ll strike it just across the creek.”

Slim’s low whistle brought Lightning out of the corral and he saddled and bridled the mare with expert hands. He slipped his rifle into the scabbard on the saddle and swung silently into the stirrups.

Dirty Water appeared asleep with only the dim light in the hotel and the glow from the windows of Doc Baldridge’s trying to penetrate the blackness of the night. It was the hour just before the dawn when Slim set out for the Box B.