The attack had come so suddenly that Snippets McPherson hardly realized what was happening before she was roughly seized and hoisted to a horse in front of a masked man. She had uttered only one shrill scream, for common sense told her it was better to obey her captor than to risk his carrying out his threat of choking her. She realized that the single shot—the one which hit Dutchy—would raise the alarm.

So she remained passive. The thing that worried her more than her own situation was Dutchy’s fate. She was sure he had been badly hurt, for she knew the old gunman would never cease firing as long as he had strength to pull a trigger.

She marked the course they were traveling. It was almost due east. They followed the trail to the Frying Pan and Bar X for about five miles, then left it to take a course south. They twisted in and out of the brush, slid down banks and scrambled up sheer slides.

Snippets estimated that they were about ten miles from town when she was transferred to a waiting buckboard. As she was driven away in this, she heard the mooing of cattle and the shouts of men, and she knew that the cattle were being driven across their trail to hide it. There were two men in the buckboard with her. She sat on the driver’s seat with one, while another knelt in the rear. Suddenly the man behind her dropped a sack over her head which blinded her completely. Even breathing was difficult.

A half hour later she was lifted from the buckboard and carried into a house. The sack was removed and she found herself in a perfectly bare room. One of the men carried a flickering lantern; by its light she sized up her two captors. She had never seen either of them before. One was tall and thin, with a drooping mustache, and the other was a short, powerfully built Mexican.

“Yuh stay quiet and yuh won’t get hurted,” the one with the mustache said.

“If yuh don’t, I’ll——” the Mexican began.

She could not resist saying: “You know who will come after me, don’t you? The Wolf!”

It amused her and gave her courage to see how they jumped. The Mexican snarled as, followed by the other, he left the room.

They took the lamp and left her in total darkness. She satisfied herself that the blinds on the windows were securely fastened, then tried to figure out where she was. She puzzled on this until her head nodded and she fell asleep.

She was awakened by the opening of the door. Sun streamed through the cracks in the blinds. A man entered. He was of medium height; his hat was pulled down over his eyes and a handkerchief covered his face.

“I’m not going to beat about the bush. You know where the Wolf holes out and you might as well tell me now as later,” the man said.

There was something about the voice that was vaguely familiar, but the handkerchief muffled the tones so that she could not place it.

“I don’t know where he is,” she faltered.

“Spill it,” repeated the man roughly. “I’m not going to stand here all day. I’m asking you where the Wolf holes out. You have only a little time. If yuh don’t tell I’ll turn you over to the Mexican out there. I’m comin’ back.”

He went out and locked the door after him. Snippets tried to pull herself together. Again and again she told herself that Allen would come, yet in spite of herself the fear grew. She ran to the blinds and beat against them with her hands; then she paced the room like a trapped animal. At last, worn out, she dropped on the floor.

In the late afternoon she heard voices outside. She flashed to the window and listened. There was one voice she knew—a high, cackling voice. That was Baldy. No doubt the Yuma Kid was with him. She heard harsh Mexican voices and caught scraps of conversation. The Toad had sent his killers here to wait for Allen. They knew he would trail her. Now she dropped on her knees and prayed that he would stay away.

Time passed and she crouched against the wall and listened—fearful for the shot which would tell her that Allen had come on his last mission. Daylight faded, and night came.

It must have been past midnight when the door opened with a jerk and the same man who had faced her that morning stood before her.

“You going to tell?” he snarled.

She faced him with the courage of despair.

“How can I tell when I don’t know where he is?”

He laughed harshly, leaped forward, caught one wrist in an iron grip, and twisted her arm cruelly.

“Spill it or I’ll twist your arm off,” he rasped.

She gritted her teeth and tried to suppress a scream. From outside came the noise of a horse at a hard gallop. The thought flashed into her mind that Jim Allen had arrived. The man threw her aside and ran from the room. She heard excited voices, the confusion of men running about. A few minutes later there came the sound of horses ridden rapidly away. The sounds ceased. She stole to the door, which the man had forgotten to lock, opened it, and glanced out. Her two captors were out there. Maybe they would go to bed soon. She must wait; she closed the door and sat on the floor near it, so she could hear them.

Hours later she sat up with a start and realized she had been asleep. The light of another gray dawn was seeping into the room. Again she opened the door. The men were still there. Their backs were toward her. She decided to chance it, to try to slip by them and out of the building. She must get away before the other man returned.

She moved softly, slowly. She was halfway there, when a board creaked, and the men turned. She leaped forward, but before she could reach the outer door the Mexican had her by the hair. She screamed and kicked at him.

“Yuh leetle fury,” he growled. “I theenk I’ll tame yuh.”

He buried both hands in her hair and shook her, yanked her about. He shifted his hands to her throat. Tighter and tighter he gripped.

Suddenly a terrific uproar rocked the room. The man released her, and she fell back against the wall. The air was filled with smoke. Slowly it cleared, and she saw Jim-twin Allen standing close to the door she had tried to reach. There was a smoking gun in his hand. Against the farther wall stood the tall man with the long mustache, his hands upraised, On the floor at her feet sprawled the Mexican, flat on his face, his arms and legs twisted grotesquely.

Snippets crossed to Allen. “I knew you would come,” she said simply.

He smiled at her. “Get back in there,” he snapped to the tall man who had been her captor. The man quailed in fright and backed, hands still raised, into the room where Snippets had been a prisoner.

“Come on, kid,” said Allen. “We got to get out of here.”

The two grays were waiting close to the house. A rifle hung on Honey Boy’s saddle.

“Do yuh think Princess will know yuh?” Allen asked.

Snippets placed her fingers to her lips and whistled. Princess cocked her ears, then, followed by her mate, dashed toward the girl. Snippets, undismayed by the snapping teeth, rubbed the mare’s soft muzzle.

“Hop on her, kid, ’cause those gents will be tearin’ mad,” he urged.

After they were mounted, Snippets glanced about in bewildered recognition of the landscape. “Why, this is the Bar X—uncle’s ranch!” she gasped. “What does it mean?”

Allen hesitated. “Reckon you’ll learn some time, so I might as well tell yuh, kid, that Ace Cutts is a bad actor.”

She thought of her uncle, of his fondness for the boy, and grew silent. Side by side they rode toward town in the bright morning sunlight.

Five riders approached out of a draw to the north of the lava fields. They were heading fast for the Bar X Ranch. Anderson, their leader, jerked his horse to a sudden, sliding stop. He pointed to the two figures on a smooth meadow a mile before them.

“Who the hell is that clown there?” he cried.

Quick suspicion fired the Yuma Kid. “Two grays!” he rasped.

Baldy’s thin lips drew back in a toothless snarl. “The Wolf!”

“He tricked us!” As Anderson made the admission, his face grew rigid, and the veins on the back of his neck expanded.

The other two riders were Mexicans, JosÉ and Pedro Gonzalez, two of the Toad’s men. Both were killers. They were used on raids where it was bad policy to leave any survivors.

“Madre de Dios!” JosÉ swore. “He has the girl!”

“We hang if——” his brother began.

“We don’t stop him,” Anderson snapped. He gave his orders rapidly. The Mexicans swung their horses to cut in behind Allen, while Anderson, Baldy, and the Yuma Kid turned to their right to head him off. Anderson shouted with exultation when he saw Ace Cutts and several riders top the rise on the farther side of the valley. They had Allen in a trap.

Bill Anderson and the other two were within a half mile of Allen before he saw them. At a glance he understood that they would head him off. He grinned confidently at Snippets.

“Kid, we’re in a jam. Don’t try tuh guide Princess, she savvies how tuh follow,” he called cheerfully.

Allen swung Honey Boy straight up the northern rise toward several mushroomlike buttes. Princess followed some fifteen yards in the rear. He was within a few hundred yards of the crest when Ace Cutts and his men topped the rise. Ace shouted, and three of his men threw themselves off their horses and began to fire, while he and two other men continued to race along the crest.

Allen whirled his horse and sent it in a scrambling run along the treacherous slope. Without a touch of the reins from Snippets, Princess turned and followed. The range was long for accurate shooting, but some of the shots fired by the dismounted men sang uncomfortably close to Allen’s ears.

“Ain’t it funny how folks always shoot over, when shootin’ down a slope?” he called over his shoulder to Snippets, who waved her hand in return. Strangely, she felt excitement, but no fear.

Anderson was directly below them and riding hard. Baldy and the Yuma Kid had stuck to the smooth floor of the meadow and were a good hundred yards ahead of him. The men on the crest were also traveling faster, and they were soon ahead of him. A minute later Ace Cutts and his men headed down the slope, while the Yuma Kid and Baldy swung their horses up it. They gave an exultant whoop when they saw they had Allen surrounded.

Allen gave them an answering yell, swung Honey Boy on “a ten-cent piece,” and headed down the slope straight for Anderson. Anderson yanked on his horse’s bit and brought him to a standstill, then snatched out his rifle. The horse reared. Allen was within three hundred yards and coming fast. To make sure of his shot Anderson slid off his pony. The moment his feet touched the ground, Allen checked Honey Boy’s wild progress down the slope and swung him parallel with it again.

Anderson threw himself on his now frightened horse and looked up. He swore bitterly; for, the moment he was in the saddle, Allen had again switched his direction and was once more headed straight for him.

The Yuma Kid and Baldy had joined Ace Cutts and his men, but all were some fifty yards higher up the slope and four hundred yards in advance of Allen.

Anderson struggled to master his plunging horse. Allen dropped his reins over the pommel and seized his Winchester. His horse covered the distance between the two in great scrambling leaps. Allen fired as rapidly as he could pump his lever.

“Damn him, he’s outguessed me,” Anderson growled.

It was impossible for him to fire from his frightened horse, so he swung his foot over its rump to dismount again. The horse plunged, reared high on its hind legs and fell with a crash. Anderson, in attempting to leap clear of the falling animal, dropped his rifle. A slug whipped his hat from his head, and he dived for cover behind his dead horse.

Allen again swung Honey Boy, this time away from the Yuma Kid, and tore down the slope at a slant. He passed Anderson, out of pistol range, flew down to the meadow and raced straight for the willows that bordered Stone Creek.

He gave a shrill whistle. Princess lengthened her stride and drew abreast of Honey Boy.

“Oh, Jim!” Snippets called enthusiastically. “What a wonderful horse! I closed my eyes on that slope. I thought she would surely stumble and fall.”

Allen laughed aloud, as he shoved new cartridges in his rifle.

“She’s part cat. Keep goin’—’cause those gents is comin’ fast.”

The two Mexican gunmen, who had gone to intercept Allen, if he tried to backtrack, were whipping and spurring to head him off from the creek.

Up on the slope Anderson was cursing. One of Ace Cutts’ men gave him a horse. He glanced down across the meadow, in time to see Allen and Snippets vanish among the willows.

“Them hosses of hisn is wonders,” cried the Yuma Kid.

“Them greasers is plumb foolish to follow him in there,” Baldy cackled. The two Mexicans headed straight for the willows. They were within fifty yards of where Allen had vanished, when two muffled reports came to the watchers’ ears, and two fleecy puffs of smoke appeared above the thicket. The leading Mexican fell from his pony, limp as a sack of flour; the other wheeled his horse and headed back. But he had not gone twenty yards before he started to sway and, a moment later, he crashed to the ground.

“Tole yuh they was fools,” Baldy stated without emotion.

Anderson cursed again. With the others at his heels, he crossed the meadow and plunged among the willows some four hundred yards upstream from the spot where Allen had entered. They splashed across the shallow stream and emerged from the undergrowth on the farther side. From there they could see Allen and Snippets fully half a mile ahead. Anderson realized that pursuit was almost useless, but it would be disastrous for them if Allen reached town; so they spurred their horses and started after the distant grays.

Two miles farther on a group of twenty riders appeared from a hollow and galloped forward to intercept them. With muttered curses, Anderson and his killers checked their horses, swung about and raced for the lava fields.

Jim Hogg’s continued raving had at last borne fruit. That morning Tom Powers had been forced to form a posse to hunt for Snippets.

Now Allen and Snippets spurred onward to join their friends, while their baffled enemies beat a hasty retreat. Hogg, Powers and the others bombarded them with eager questions, but Allen slurred lightly over his rescue of the girl. Already his mind was busy with the important task still before him—to clean up the Lava Gang.