We'll still keep the game fair an' square. I'll throw
away my gun an' you can sail in as quick as you get your sleeves rolled
up. But, I doubt if you can get away with it, at that."
Endicott laughed happily, and in the darkness his hand stole across and
gripped the hand of the Texan in a mighty grip: "I wish to God there
was some way I could thank you," he said. "Had it not been for you, I
never could have won her. Why, man, I never got acquainted with myself
until the past three days!"
"There ain't any posses out," grinned Tex. "The fellow I met in the
coulee there by Antelope Butte told me. They think you were lynched.
He told me somethin' else, too--but that'll keep."
As they were saddling up, the following morning, the Texan grinned:
"I'll bet old Long Bill Kearney's in a pleasin' frame of mind."
"He's had time to meditate a little on his sins," answered Alice.
"No--not Long Bill ain't. If he started in meditatin' on them, he'd
starve to death before he'd got meditated much past sixteen--an' he's
fifty, if he's a day."
"There are four of us and only three horses," exclaimed Endicott, as he
tightened his cinch.
"That's all right. The horses are fresh. I'm light built, an' we'll
change off makin' 'em carry double. It ain't so far."
The morning sun was high when the horses turned into the coulee that
led to Long Bill's ranch.
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