its holster. “Mornin', Val. What's new down at Tucson?” he said amiably.
“I understood I was to meet you alone, Mr. Leroy,” said the sheriff quickly, his blue-gray eyes on the former chief.
“That was the agreement, Mr. Collins, but it seems the boys are on the anxious seat about these little socials of ours. They've embraced the notion that I'm selling them. I hated to have them harassed with doubts, so I invited the new majordomo of the ranch to come with me. Of cou'se, if you object—”
“I don't object in the least, but I want him to understand the agreement. I've got a posse waiting at Eldorado Springs, and as soon as I get back there we take the trail after you. Bucky O'Connor is at the head of the posse.”
York grinned. “We'll be in Sonora then, Val. Think I'm going to wait and let you shoot off my other fingers?”
Collins fished from his vest pocket the papers he had taken from Scott hat and from Webster. “I think I'll be jogging along back to the springs. I reckon these are what you want.”
Leroy took them from him and handed them to Neil. “Don't let us detain you any longer, Mr. Collins. I know you're awful busy these days.”
The sheriff nodded a good day, cut down the hill on the slant, and disappeared in a mesquit thicket, from the other side of which he presently emerged astride a bay horse.
The two outlaws retraced their way to the foot of the hill and remounted their broncos.
“I want to say, cap, that I'm eating humble-pie in big chunks right this minute,” said Neil shamefacedly, scratching his curly poll and looking apologetically at his former chief. “I might 'a' knowed you was straight as a string, all I've seen of you these last two years. If those coyotes say another word, cap—”
An exploding echo seemed to shake the mountain, and then another. Leroy swayed in the saddle, clutching at his side. He pitched forward, his arms round the horse's neck, and slid slowly to the ground.
Neil was off his horse in an instant, kneeling beside him. He lifted him in his arms and carried him behind a great outcropping boulder.
“It's that hound Collins,” he muttered, as he propped the wounded man's head on his arm. “By God, I didn't think it of Val.”
Leroy opened his eyes and smiled faintly. “Guess again, York.”
“You don't mean—”
He nodded. “Right this time—Hardman and Chaves and Reilly. They shot to get us both. With us out of the way they could divide the treasure between them.”
Neil choked. “You ain't bad hurt, old man. Say you ain't bad hurt, Phil.”
“More than I can carry, York; shot through and through. I've been doubtful of Reilly for a long time.”
“By the Lord, if I don't get the rattlesnake for this!” swore Neil between his teeth. “Ain't there nothin' I can do for you, old pardner?”
In sharp succession four shots rang out. Neil grasped his rifle, leaning forward and crouching for cover. He turned a puzzled face toward Leroy. “I don't savvy. They ain't shooting at us.”
“The sheriff,” explained Leroy. “They forgot him, and he doubled back on them.”
“I'll bet Val got one of them,” cried Neil, his face lighting.
“He's got one—or he's quit living. That's a sure thing. Why don't you circle up on them from behind, York?”
“I hate to leave you, cap—and you so bad. Can't I do a thing for you?”
Leroy smiled faintly. “Not a thing. I'll be right here when you get back, York.”
The curly-headed young puncher took Leroy's hand in his, gulping down a boyish sob. “I ain't been square with you, cap. I reckon after this—when you git well—I'll not be such a coyote any more.”
The dying man's eyes were lit with a beautiful tenderness. “There's one thing you can do for me, York.... I'm out of the game, but I want you to make a new start.... I got you into this life, boy. Quit it, and live straight. There's nothing to it, York.”
The cowboy-bandit choked. “Don't you worry about me, cap. I'm all right. I'd just as lief quit this deviltry, anyhow.”
“I want you to promise, boy.” A whimsical, half-cynical smile touched Leroy's eyes. “You see, after living like a devil for thirty years, I want to die like a Christian. Now, go, York.”
After Neil had left him, Leroy's eyes closed. Faintly he heard two more shots echoing down the valley, but the meaning of them was already lost to his wandering mind.
Neil dodged rapidly round the foot of the mountain with intent to cut off the bandits as they retreated. He found the sheriff crouching behind a rock scarce two hundred yards from the scene of the murder. At the same moment another shot echoed from well over to the left.
“Who can that be?” Neil asked, very much puzzled.
“That's what's worrying me, York,” the sheriff returned.
Together they zigzagged up the side of the mountain. Twice from above there came sounds of rifle shots. Neil was the first to strike the trail to the mine. None too soon for as he stepped upon it, breathing heavily from his climb, Reilly swung round a curve and whipped his weapon to his shoulder. The man fired before York could interfere and stood watching tensely the result of his shot. He was silhouetted against the skyline, a beautiful mark, but Neil did not cover him. Instead, he spoke quietly to the other.
“Was it you that killed Phil, Reilly?”
The man whirled and saw Neil for the first time. His answer was instant. Flinging up his rifle, he pumped a shot at York.
Neil's retort came in a flash. Reilly clutched at his heart and toppled backward from the precipice upon which he stood. Collins joined the cowpuncher and together they stepped forward to the point from which Reilly had plunged down two hundred feet to the jagged rocks below.
At the curve they came face to face with Bucky O'Connor. Three weapons went up quicker than the beating of an eyelash. More slowly each went down again.
“What are you doing here, Bucky?” the sheriff asked.
“Just pirootin' around, Val. It occurred to me Leroy might not mean to play fair with you, so I kinder invited myself to the party. When I heard shooting I thought it was you they had bushwhacked, so I sat in to the game.”
“You guessed wrong, Bucky. Reilly and the others rounded on Leroy. While they were at it they figured to make a clean job and bump off York, too. From what York says Leroy has got his.”
The ranger turned a jade eye on the outlaw. “Has Mr. Neil turned honest man, Val? Taken him into your posse, have you?” he asked, with an edge of irony in his voice.
The sheriff laid a hand on the shoulder of the man who had been his friend before he turned miscreant.
“Don't you worry about Neil, Bucky,” he advised gently. “It was York shot Reilly, after York had cut loose at him, and I shouldn't wonder if that didn't save your life. Neil has got to stand the gaff for what he's done, but I'll pull wires to get his punishment made light.”
“Killed Reilly, did he?” repeated O'Connor. “I got Anderson back there.”
“That makes only one left to account for. I wonder who he is?” Collins turned absent-mindedly to Neil. The latter looked at him out of an expressionless face. Even though his confederate had proved traitor he would not betray him.
“I wonder,” he said.
Bucky laughed. “Made a mistake that time, Val.”
“I plumb forgot the situation for a moment,” the sheriff grinned. “Anyhow, we better be hittin' his trail.”
“How about Phil?” Neil suggested.
“That's