Johnny combed the town without finding the Basque. No one would even admit that they had seen him. The boy refused to give up. Madeiras was there, somewhere, and he intended to find him. It was wasted effort, Tony having left the Rock as Johnny crouched upon the freight car.

The day had been one of misery for the Basque. He believed that he had killed Johnny. He was hardly less certain about having seen the boy’s ghost. He was primitive and superstitious enough, too, to accept the fact that a dead man’s spirit could return to haunt its enemies.

Tony had promised himself that Gallup should never get Molly. For this reason he slept in Brackett’s stable. Aaron kept his rig there. If he set out for the Diamond-Bar, Madeiras would know it.

The Basque, brooding all day long over Johnny’s death, found the fact that he was keeping Gallup from Molly small recompense for the loss of the body. More than once the Basque wished that he had killed the coroner. He told himself that he would have to do it some day. Gallup would have to pay his debt.

Tony had managed to secure more than enough to drink during the last day or two. He had been half intoxicated when Gallup had entered the stables an hour back and hitched up his team. Soon after the old man had left, the Basque slid down from his nest in the hay mow.

“Por Dios!” he cursed. “So he go after all, eh? Better I tak’ her than heem. I say, sometime I keel that man—tonight be the time!”

Madeiras had left his horse with an uncle at the Casa EspaÑol. The animal was under lock and key when Tony got there. Half an hour was wasted in awakening Felipe and unlocking the barn.

But at last the Basque set sail for the Diamond-Bar. He raked his pony with the spurs as he urged him on. Gallup could not be far ahead. The ride began to sober him and he wondered how Gallup had come so far.

Miles unwound until the Basque had covered half the distance to the ranch. He had yet to catch a glimpse of Aaron. After another mile Madeiras pulled up his horse.

“Where I mees that man?” he asked himself. “I come fas’—no team keep ahead of me.” He snapped his fingers at a sudden thought. “Mebbe he leave those team behin’ while I was’e all that time wit’ ole Felipe, and some mens tak’ him in those dam’ flivver.”

Madeiras uttered a wild cry as he caught sight of the ranch. He was breaking all records tonight.

Not until he was within a quarter of a mile of the house did he bring his horse to a canter. A hundred yards more and he vaulted to the ground. Gun in hand, he left the pony and went crawling away through the sage. Passing to the rear of the house and finding the door unlocked, he stepped inside.

Madeiras knew the place too well to need a guide to lead him to the girl’s room. Not a light was burning. If Gallup had been here he was gone now. The thought made the Basque less cautious. His spur chains tinkled as he hurried to Molly’s door. It was locked. Molly heard him tapping for admission.

“Who is it?” she demanded, frightened.

“Quick!” Tony whispered. “It’s Madeiras. Gallup ees comin’ to tak’ you. Open the door!”

“I will not!” came the girl’s voice, strong, defiant. “Go at once or I’ll scream.”

“Scream!” the Basque dared her as he put his shoulder to the door and snapped the lock. “You come wit’ me.”

A wave of emotion smote Madeiras as he sprang into the room. Molly had lighted a lamp. He saw her crouching against the bed, her nightgown open at the throat and half revealing the swelling bosom, the tapering limbs. The fragrance of her pink and white loveliness intoxicated the Basque. No wonder that Gallup wanted her. No wonder that Johnny had.

Molly had never been anything more than a tomboy to the Basque. He saw her now for a flesh-and-blood goddess.

The girl read his look and opened her mouth to cry out. The Basque saw her start and he leaped toward her. Molly struggled as his hand closed over her mouth.

“Don’t you yell,” he warned her. “You t’ink I’m pretty bad frien’, eh? Some day, mebbe, you change your min’. I tak’ you now. You go wit’ me! What I care for Kent? What I care for Gallup? I keel my bes’ frien’; but Madre de Dios, I die for you!”

Molly beat his hands and scratched his face, but a kitten would not have been more helpless against the strength of him. She felt herself lifted into his arms. With one hand Madeiras snatched up a pile of clothing. The next instant he was striding down the hall, carrying her as if she were no weight at all.

A hundred yards from the house the Basque turned, and shaking his fist at it he cried:

“By God, for once Tony Madeiras ees the boss!”