"I don't reckon you'd be ridin' any terrible great distance an' takin' chances by the handful just to see me, boy," said Price. "But I ain't tryin' to pry into your affairs. You don't have to answer any of the fool questions I ask you—you know that. I'm an old man an' gettin' childish."

Rathburn laughed. "I can believe that when I find you still putterin' around up here where there ain't even a sign of mineral," he chided.

"There's gold right under your feet," said the old man stoutly. "I'll have a payin' vein opened up here in less'n three months."

"I hope so, Joe. There's nobody I'd like more to see make a big strike than you. You were my dad's friend, an' you've been mine. I haven't got many friends, Joe."

"But them you've got is good ones," said Price quickly. "How long you been away?"

"About eight months," Rathburn replied with a frown.

"It's hard to get away from the desert," mused the old man. "It's in your blood. If you leave here for good you've just naturally got to take something along with you from here—something that's a part of the desert, you might say."

Rathburn looked keenly at the face of his friend. But the old man was regarding his pipe, as if he had never until that moment seen it.

"I ran into a posse chasin' a gang that robbed a stage on the way over here this noon," Rathburn said presently.

Price's interest quickened, but he made no sign. "They saw you?" he asked.

"Couldn't help it," Rathburn grumbled. "Took after me. I had to drop one of 'em with a bullet in the shoulder to slow 'em up in the long canyon over on the other side."

"Know any of the gang?" Price asked.

"Met one. Threw down my gun on him. He told me Mike Eagen was runnin' the works."

Price nodded. "I reckon Mike's been pullin' quite a few stunts while you been away."

"An' I've been gettin' the blame for 'em more'n likely," said Rathburn in indignation.

Price nodded again. "Might be so," he commented.

Rathburn looked up at him in understanding. "They'll have me mixed up with this stage holdup," he said earnestly. "From what I gathered they killed the driver, an' they'll say that was my part."

"That's the trouble, boy," said the old miner. "If a fellow's handy with his gun somebody's sure to get jealous of him an' make him draw. If he gets his man because he has to, he's a killer. When he's known as a killer he ain't got a chance. You had to drop the two men you dropped aroun' here, boy; but they ain't forgettin' it."

"Bob Long was headin' that posse," said Rathburn thoughtfully.

"An' Bob Long's a sticker when he hits out on a man's trail," said Price. "Still, I guess you'd be safe in here for a while. There ain't many knows this place."

"I don't figure on stayin' here long, Joe," said Rathburn.

"I didn't think you did," said Price.

"I'll have to get goin'—hit for new country an' never know when I may run up against the law in a quarter where I ain't expecting it; always sneaking along—like the coyote. It was Mike Eagen who gave me that name, Joe."

Rathburn's voice was low and vibrant, and the old man felt the menacing quality in it.

"What's more," Rathburn went on, "I'm always remembering that he's back here, getting away with his dirty tricks, shoving the blame off on me, some way or other, when the chase gets too hot."

For some time the old man was silent. When he spoke he put an arm about Rathburn's shoulder.

"Boy, before you get worse mixed up than you are, there's a place you ought to visit aroun' here," he said in a fatherly tone.

Rathburn shrugged and stared up at the night sky which was blossoming with stars.

"It would be a right smart risk," Price went on, "for they'd maybe think to drop aroun' that way on a lookout for you; but I reckon before you do much more, you better drop in at the Mallory place."

Rathburn rose abruptly. "I guess that's what I came up here to hear you say," he said irritably. "But I don't reckon it can be done, Joe. I haven't any business there."

"How do you know, boy? Maybe you ain't bein' right fair."

"Seems to me it would look better for me to stay away."

"They don't have to see you," urged the old man. "The Mallory place is a good fifteen miles from Hope, close up against the mountains. Boy, don't you think you better make sure?"

The wistful, yearning look was back in Rathburn's eyes. His right hand rested upon the butt of his gun. The other held his forgotten cigarette. He turned and looked into the old man's eyes.

"Joe, you said something about takin' something from the desert if I left it. You're right. But it can't be, Joe. This thing has killed my chances!"

The gun seemed to leap from its holster into his hand at his hip of its own accord. The old miner's brows lifted in astonishment at the draw.

"If I was you I wouldn't be much scared who I met on the way down to the Mallory place if I didn't meet too many of 'em at once," he said with a smile.

"I—I couldn't wear it—there," Rathburn faltered.

"Well, leave it hangin' on a handy peg, boy," said the old man cheerfully.

Rathburn jammed the gun back into its holster and walked around to his horse. He led the animal down to drink and then returned and saddled.

"You goin' on to-night?" asked Price casually.

"I'm takin' a ride," Rathburn confessed.

"You ain't takin' my advice at the same time, are you?" asked Price, pretending to be greatly concerned.

Rathburn mounted and looked down upon him in the faint light of the stars.

"Joe Price, you're a wise old desert rat, an' I'm a young fool," he said with a twinkle in his gray eyes. "If Bob Long happens this way give him my regards an' tell him they got the reward notices over in California all right, for I saw 'em stuck up over there. So long."

The old miner called out after him and watched him ride down the canyon and disappear in the shadows. Nor was he the only watcher; for, high on the ridge above, another man touched his horse with his spurs and started down the west side of the range, as Rathburn vanished.



CHAPTER XXVIII

A NIGHT SUMMONS

In two hours Rathburn came to a fence about a small ranch. Cattle were grazing on the sparse feed within the inclosure, and he saw a clump of trees marking the site of a house.

He rode around the fence until he came to a gate. There was a light shining from two of the windows of the house. He passed through the gate, and, as he approached the house from the side, he saw two figures on the porch. He halted in the shelter of the trees, and, as one of the figures crossed the beam of light which shone out the door, he saw that it was a man. He obtained a fleeting look at the man's face. He was comparatively young, not bad looking, with blue eyes and a small, close-cropped, sandy mustache.

Rathburn scratched his head in an effort to place the man. He seemed vaguely familiar. Rathburn was sure he had seen him somewhere. But he gave up the futile effort to identify him when he saw that the other figure on the porch was that of a girl.

Dismounting, he led his horse around to the rear and put him in a corral near the barn. He surmised that it was about ten o'clock. As he walked toward the front of the house, again he heard the sputtering of a small motor car; then he saw the path of light from its headlights go streaking across the desert in the direction of the town to southward. The front door closed, and all was still.

Rathburn hesitated for several moments, then he stamped up the porch steps and knocked at the door. It was opened by a girl. She held a lighted lamp in her hand. When she saw Rathburn standing, hat in hand, before her, her dark eyes widened, and she nearly dropped the lamp. He stepped forward quickly and took it from her.

"Roger!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "You—here?"

"I'm here, Laura," he said quietly. "I'm home on a—a visit."

"I heard you were back," she faltered. "Mr. Doane—that is—a gentleman from town told me he had heard you were back. But——"

She scanned his face closely and peered beyond him into the shadows with visible concern.

"Roger, come in quickly," she invited, stepping back from the door.

With a faint smile he entered and closed the door after him. He put the lamp down on the table in what was evidently the sitting room of the small house. He looked about him with the air of one who sees familiar surroundings, but is embarrassed by them.

"Some one been tellin' you the details of my arrival?" he asked with an effort to appear casual.

"I heard you were in some trouble, Roger." The girl continued to stare at him with a queer expression in her fine eyes—part sorrow, part concern, part gladness.

"I'm not a stranger to trouble these days, Laura," he said soberly.

There was a sob in the girl's throat, but she recovered herself at once.

"Have you eaten?" she asked quickly.

"Up at Joe Price's place," he replied. "All fed and chipper."

There was not much confidence in his tone or manner. As the girl lowered her gaze, he looked at her hungrily; his eyes feasted on the coils of dark hair, her long, black lashes, the curve of her cheek and her delicate color, the full, ruby lips, and the small, quivering chin. She was in the throes of a strong emotion.

"I'm sorry, Laura, if—you didn't want me to come," he said unsteadily.

"Oh, Roger! Of course we want you to come. It's been so long since we saw you. And you've—you've gone through so much."

She raised her eyes, and the expression which he saw in their depths caused him to look away and to bite his lips.

"There's a lot of it I wish I could undo, Laura; an' there's a lot more of it I couldn't help, an' maybe some I—I—wasn't——" He paused. He couldn't bring himself to say anything in extenuation of himself and his acts in the presence of this girl. It might sound as if he were playing for her sympathy, he thought to himself.

"Roger, I know you haven't done all the things I've heard about," she said bravely. "And there's always a chance. You're a man. You can find a way out. If the trails seem all twisted and tangled, you can use a compass—your own conscience, Roger. You still have that."

"How did you happen to mention the trails bein' all mixed up like that?" he asked curiously.

"Why—I don't know. Isn't that the way it seems?"

Rathburn looked away with a frown. "You come near hittin' the nail on the head, Laura."

"Oh, then you are beginning to think!" she said eagerly.

"I've done nothing but think for months," Rathburn confessed.

She looked at him searchingly. Then her eyes dropped to the black butt of the gun in the holster strapped to his right thigh. She shuddered slightly.

"You came from the west, Roger?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied shortly. "From where there's water an' timber an' flowers an' grass—but they had my number there, just the same as they've got it here. I'm a marked man, Laura Mallory."

She leaned upon the table with one hand; the other she held upon her breast.

"Are—are they—after you, Roger?" she asked in a low, anxious tone.

"As usual," he answered with a vague laugh. "Laura, I didn't come here to bother you with my troubles; I come here just to see you."

The girl colored. "I know, Roger. We've known each other a long time—since we were children. You wouldn't like it for me not to show any concern over your troubles, would you?"

"I wish we could talk about something else," said Rathburn. "I can't stay long."

Laura Mallory looked worried. "May I ask where you plan to go, Roger?"

"I'm not sure. I only know I wanted to come back, an' I came. I hadn't any fixed plans, an' I wasn't expecting the reception I got." His face clouded. Then he looked straight into the girl's eyes. "I hit this country this morning," he said steadily. "The first folks I saw was some men ridin' in my direction up between the lava hills and the range. Then things began to happen."

She nodded brightly. "I believe you," she said simply.

Rathburn smiled. "You aways did that, Laura, an' I ain't never been much of a hand at lying."

"Roger," she said quickly, "if they all knew you as well as I think I know you——"

"They wouldn't believe," he interrupted. "They call me The Coyote, an' they'll have me live up to the name whether I want to or not," he added bitterly.

"But, Roger, you're forgetting what I said about the trails and the compass."

"No, Laura, I'm not, but there's another force besides the big lodestone that's affectin' that compass."

"Roger, you're thinking of an enemy!"

He did not answer her. His face appeared grim, almost haggard, in the yellow rays of the lamplight.

"Roger, you once promised me anything I might ask," she said softly.

"An' all you have to do is ask," he answered, taking a step toward her.

"I'm going to ask you for something, Roger," she said without looking at him. "Maybe you'll think it's—it's too much that I ask." She glanced up at him doubtfully.

"What is it, Laura?" he insisted.

"I want your gun, Roger," she whispered.

He straightened and stared at her in startled wonder. "But, Laura—a man in my position—why—why—where would I be at?"

"Maybe if you gave it to me it would help you find a way out, Roger," she pleaded earnestly.

Rathburn looked into her eyes and thrilled. Then without a word he unbuckled his cartridge belt which held his holstered gun, untied the strap about his thigh and laid the belt with the weapon upon the table.

"Roger!" said the girl. The sob again was in her voice. She reached out and placed a hand upon his arm.

An elderly man appeared in the doorway from the kitchen.

"Father, this is Roger," said the girl hurriedly. "He's back."

"What's that? Roger, eh? You mean Rathburn is here?"

The old man peered at the visitor from the doorway, his lean face twitching. He stroked his gray beard in indecision. His blue eyes looked long at Rathburn, then at the girl, and lastly at the gun and belt on the table.

"Well, hello, Rathburn," he said finally, advancing into the room. He held out a hand which Rathburn grasped.

"Did you eat yet?" asked Mallory.

"In the hills with Joe Price," replied Rathburn. "But I'm just as much obliged."

"Yes, of course," Mallory muttered. "With Joe, eh? He ain't been down in months. How is he?"

"Looks good as a gold mine an' thinks he's found one," said Rathburn, looking at the girl's father curiously.

"That's what keeps him up," Mallory asserted loudly. "He'll never get old as long as he thinks he's got a mine corralled. He ought to try stock raisin' for a while. You look older, Rathburn—more filled out. Are you still cutting 'em high, wide, an' handsome?"

Rathburn's face clouded.

"Roger's starting new, dad," the girl interposed.

Mallory stared keenly at the younger man. He started to speak, but was interrupted by the sound of horses outside the house.

Rathburn whirled toward the door, took a step, and stopped in his tracks. The girl's hands flew to the sides of her face, and her eyes widened with apprehension.

"I'll go see who it is," said Mallory with a quick look at Rathburn.

He hastened out into the kitchen, and a moment later they heard the kitchen door open. There was a murmur of voices. The girl stared at Rathburn breathlessly, while he tapped with his slim fingers upon the top of the table.

Then Mallory came in. "Somebody to see you," he said to Rathburn.

Rathburn looked once at the white-faced girl and followed her father out into the kitchen. She heard them speak in an undertone, and then Rathburn came back into the room.

"I ain't much elated over my visitor," he said slowly. "I wish you hadn't asked me what you did until—well, until this caller had come an' gone."

She looked straight into his eyes in an agony of dread.

"Who is it, Roger?" she asked, wetting her lips.

"Mike Eagen is out there," he answered calmly.

She drew a quick breath, while he waited. Then he turned on his heel and started for the kitchen door.

"Roger!" she called.

He swung about and eyed her questioningly. She pointed at the heavy belt and gun on the table.

"Take it," she whispered.

He buckled on the belt and tied down the end of the holster so it could not slip if he should draw the weapon within it. Then he made his way into the kitchen and out of the rear door. Laura Mallory sank into a chair, sobbing.



CHAPTER XXIX

GUNMEN

For a moment Rathburn waited at the kitchen door. He heard Mallory going upstairs from the next room. All was still outside, save for the stamping of several horses. Then he suddenly opened the door and stepped out. There was no sound or movement, as he accustomed his eyes to the dim light without. He moved across the threshold and walked straight to a bulky figure standing beside a large horse.

"You want to see me, Eagen?" he asked coldly.

"Watch out there, Eagen!" came Mallory's voice in a strident tone from a window above them. "I've got you covered with this Winchester!"

Both Rathburn and Eagen looked up and saw Mallory leaning out of a window over the kitchen, and the stock of a rifle was snug against his cheek and shoulder.

"Acts like he's scared you can't take care of yourself," said Eagen with a sneer. "The way you ditched that posse to-day I didn't think you needed a bodyguard."

"I don't," Rathburn retorted. "The old man is acting on his own hook. You was watching the sport to-day?"

"Couldn't help it," said Eagen. "It was me an' some of the boys they was after. You sort of helped us out by coming along an' attracting their attention. I pegged you when I saw you ride for it, an' I knew they wouldn't get you."

"You mean you hid an' let me stand the gaff," said Rathburn scornfully. "That's your style, Eagen. You're plumb afraid to come out from under cover."

He noted that there were three men with Eagen. They were quietly sitting their horses some little distance behind their leader.

Eagen muttered something, and Rathburn could see his face working with rage. Then Eagen's coarse features underwent a change, and he grinned, his teeth flashing white under his small, black mustache.

"Look here, Rathburn, there's no use in you an' me being on the outs," he said in an undertone. "We've got something in common."

"You've made a mistake already," Rathburn interrupted sharply. "We haven't a thing in common I know of, Eagen, unless it's a gun apiece."

"Maybe you think that's all we need," said Eagen hoarsely; "an' if that's the way you feel you won't find me backin' down when you start something. Just now I ain't forgetting that crazy fool with that rifle up there."

"You didn't come here for a gun play, Eagen," said Rathburn. "You ain't plumb loco every way. I take it you saw me makin' for this place an' followed me here. What do you want?"

"I want to talk business," said Eagen with a hopeful note in his voice; "but you won't let me get started."

"An' I won't have dealings with you," said Rathburn crisply.

"That's what you think," sneered Eagen. "But you're in a tight corner, an' we can help you out. Long said to-day, I heard just now, that he'd put every deputy he had an' every man he could swear in as a special on your trail, and he'd get you."

"The thing that I can't see," drawled Rathburn, "is what that's got to do with you. I suppose you're here as a missionary to tip me off. Thanks."

Eagen had calmed down. He stepped closer to Rathburn and spoke in a low tone.

"Here's the lay: They're after you, an' they're after us. I know you're no stool pigeon, an' I know I ain't takin' a chance when I tell you that we've got a big job comin' up—one that'll get us a pretty roll. It takes nerve to pull it off, even though certain things will make it easier. You might just as well be in on it. You can make it a last job an' blow these parts for good. You don't have to come in, of course; but it'll be worth your while. You've got the name, an' you might as well have what goes with it. I'll let you head the outfit an' shoot square all the way."

Rathburn laughed scornfully. "When I heard you was out here, Eagen, I guessed it was something like this that brought you here. Maybe you're statin' facts as to this job which, you say, is coming up. But you lied when you said you'd shoot square, Eagen. I wouldn't trust you as far as you could throw a bull by the tail, an' there's half a dozen other reasons why you an' me couldn't be pardners!"

Eagen stepped back with a snarl of rage. "I don't reckon you're entitled to what rep you've got!" he blurted hoarsely. "Right down under the skin, Rathburn, I believe you're soft!"

"That's puttin' it up to me all fair an' square," Rathburn replied evenly. "I'll give it right back to you, Eagen."

"Get that gun out of the window."

"Mallory."

"Right here, Rathburn, an' all set," came Mallory's voice.

"Get that gun out of the window."

"What's that? Don't you see there's three of 'em? You——"

"Get that gun out of the window!" rang Rathburn's voice.

"Let him play with it," Eagen said harshly.

Mallory withdrew from the window, as Eagen reached for his left stirrup and swung into the saddle.

"I see you ain't takin' it," Rathburn called to him with a jeering laugh.

"An' I ain't forgettin' it?" Eagen shouted, as he drove in his spurs.

His three companions galloped after him, and Rathburn caught sight of a dark-skinned face, a pair of beady, black eyes, and the long, drooping mustaches of one of the men.

"Gomez!" he exclaimed to himself. "Eagen's takin' up with the Mexicans."

Mallory appeared in the kitchen door, holding a lamp above his head. "What'd he want?" he demanded of Rathburn.

"More'n he got," answered Rathburn shortly. Then he saw Laura Mallory standing behind her father.

"I mean to say he made a little proposition that I had to turn down," he amended, with a direct glance at the girl. "An' now I've got to do some more ridin'."

"You leavin' to-night?" asked Mallory in surprise. "We can put you up here, Rathburn, an' I'll keep an eye out for visitors."

"And we'd have 'em afore mornin'," said Rathburn grimly. "Eagen will see to it that Bob Long knows I was out here, right pronto. But I aim to stop any posses from botherin' around your place. If there's one thing I don't want to do, Mallory, it's make any trouble for you."

The girl came walking toward him and touched his arm.

"What are you going to do, Roger?" she asked in an anxious voice.

"I'm goin' straight into Hope," Rathburn replied.

"But, Roger," the girl faltered, "won't that mean—mean——"

"A show-down? Maybe so. I ain't side-steppin' it."

A world of worry showed in the girl's eyes. "Roger, why don't you go away?" she asked hesitatingly. "Things could be worse, and maybe in time they would become better. Folks forget, Roger."

For a moment Rathburn's hand rested on hers, as he looked down at her.

"There's two ways of forgettin', girlie," he said soberly. "An' I don't want 'em to forget me the wrong way."

"But, Roger, promise me you won't—won't—turn your gun against a man, Roger. It would make things so much worse. It would leave—nothing now. Don't you see? It takes courage to avoid what seems to be the inevitable. That terrible skill which is yours, the trick in this hand on mine, is your worst enemy. Oh, Roger, if you'd never learned to throw a gun!"

"It isn't that," he told her gently. "It isn't what you think at all. I'd rather cut off that right hand than have it raised unfairly against a single living thing. They call me a gunman, girlie, an' I reckon I am. But I'm not a killer. There's a difference between the two, an' sometimes I think it's that difference that's makin' all the trouble. I'm still tryin' to steer by that thing you call the compass, an' that's why I've got to go to town."

He stepped away from her, waved a farewell to Mallory, who was watching the scene with a puzzled expression, and ran for his horse. A minute later the ringing hoof beats of his mount were dying in the still night.

Laura Mallory swayed, and her father hurried to her with the lamp and put his arm about her.

"What's it all about, sweetie?" he asked complainingly.

"Nothing, daddy, nothing—only I love him."

A puff of wind blew out the light in the lamp, and father and daughter stood with arms about each other under the dancing stars.



CHAPTER XXX

THE SHERIFF'S PLIGHT

Riding slowly Rathburn kept well in toward the range and proceeded cautiously. This wasn't alone a safety measure, for he wished to favor his horse. The dun had been hard ridden in the spurt to gain the mountains ahead of the posse. He had been rested at Price's cabin, to be sure, and also at the Mallory ranch; but now Rathburn had a ride of fifteen miles to the town of Hope, and he did not know how much riding he might have to do next day.

When a scant three miles from Hope, he halted, loosened the saddle cinch, and rested his horse, while he himself reclined on the ground and smoked innumerable cigarettes. He was in a thoughtful mood, serious and somewhat puzzled. The recollection of Eagen's proposition caused him to frown frequently. Then a wistful light would glow in his eyes, and he thought of Laura Mallory. This would be succeeded by another frown, and then his eyes would narrow, and the smile that men had come to fear would tremble on his lips.

He was again in the saddle with the first faint glimmer of the approaching dawn. He covered the distance into Hope at a swinging lope and rode in behind a row of neat, yellow-brick buildings which formed the east side of one block on the short main street.

Securing his horse behind a building midway of the rear of the block, he entered one of the buildings through a back door. It proved to be a combination pool room and soft-drink bar. No one was in the place except the porter who was cleaning up. Rathburn noted that the man showed no evidences of knowing him, although this was Rathburn's home town.

"Kind of early, ain't you, boss?" grinned the porter. "Maybe you're lookin' for something to start the day with." He winked broadly.

Rathburn nodded and walked over to the bar.

"Just get in?" asked the porter, as he put out a bottle of white liquor and glanced at the dust on Rathburn's clothes.

"Just in," replied Rathburn, pouring and tossing off one drink. "Where's everybody? Too early for 'em?"

"Well, it's about an hour too early on the average, unless there's been an all-night game," replied the porter, putting the bottle away, as his customer declined a second drink. "But then there ain't very many in town right now. Everybody's out after the reward money."

Rathburn lifted his brows.

"Say," exclaimed the porter eagerly, "you didn't see any men ridin' looselike, when you was coming in, did you?"

Rathburn shook his head. "What's all this you're tryin' to chirp into my ear?" he asked.

"Well, Bob Long, the sheriff, has got all his deputies out except just the jailer—there ain't anybody much in jail now, anyway—an' all the other men he could pin a star on, lookin' for a gang that held up the stage from Sunshine yesterday mornin', shot the stage driver dead, an' made off with an express package full of money. There's a big reward out for the man that's leadin' the gang. He's called The Coyote. Used to live here. He's a bad one."

"Sheriff out, too?" Rathburn asked, showing great interest.

"Sure. Come back in early last night an' got more men. They're tryin' to surround Imagination Range, I guess. That's where this Coyote an' his gang are supposed to be hanging out. The sheriff don't care so much for the fellers that's with him, I guess, but he sure does want this Coyote person. He told everybody to let the gang go if they had to, but to get the leader."

Rathburn looked through the front windows with a quizzical smile on his lips. The sun was shining in the deserted street.

"How many men has the sheriff got?" he inquired casually.

"Most two hundred, I guess. They're scattered all over the range, an' a lot of 'em has hit over on the other side. They think The Coyote crossed the range an' is makin' east."

"Well, maybe he has, an' maybe he hasn't," Rathburn observed. "The best place to hide from a posse is in the middle of it."

The porter looked at him, then burst into a loud laugh. "I guess you said something that time, pardner. In the middle of it, eh?" He went about his work, chuckling, while Rathburn walked to a front window and stood looking out.

A few minutes later he stepped quickly back into a corner, as a small automobile raced up the street. He sauntered to the rear door, passed out with a pleasant word to the porter, and when he gained the open, hurried up behind the buildings the length of the block. There he turned to the left and walked rapidly to a large stone building. He went around on the east side and entered a door on the ground floor. He found himself in a hallway, and on his left was a door, on the glazed glass of the upper half of which was the gold lettering: "Sheriff's Office."

After a moment's hesitation he opened the door quickly and went in. A man standing before an open roll-top desk turned and regarded the early-morning visitor. He was a small man, but of wiry build. His eyes were gray, and he wore a small, brown mustache. He had a firm chin, and his face was well tanned. He was holding a paper in his hands, and the paper remained as steady as a rock in his grasp. His eyes bored straight and unflinchingly into Rathburn's. He showed no surprise, no concern. He made no move toward the pair of guns in the holsters of the belt which reposed on top of his desk. He spoke first.

"Have you come to give yourself up, Rathburn?"

"Hardly that, sheriff," replied Rathburn cheerfully. "I arrived in town this morning after most of the population had moved to the desert and the country aroun' Imagination. I didn't think I was goin' to be lucky enough to catch you in till I saw you arrive in that flivver. Are you back for more recruits?"

The sheriff continued to hold the paper without moving.

"When you first started to talk, Rathburn, I thought maybe bravado had brought you here to make a grand-stand play," he said coolly. "But I see you're not as foolhardy as some might think. I always gave you credit for being clever."

"Thanks, Sheriff Long," said Rathburn dryly. "There's a few preliminaries we've got to get over, so——"

His gun leaped into his hand and instantly covered the official. He stepped to the end of the desk, reached over and appropriated the belt with the two guns with his left hand. He tossed the belt and weapons to a vacant chair.

"Now, sheriff, I didn't come lookin' for a cell like you hinted; I drifted in for a bit of information."

"This is headquarters for that article, especially if it's about yourself," said Long, dropping the paper on his desk and sitting down in the chair before it.

"What all have you got against me?" frowned Rathburn.

"Nothing much," said the sheriff with biting sarcasm; "just a few killings, highway robbery, a bank stick-up, two or three gaming houses looted, and a stage holdup. Enough to keep you in the Big House for ninety-nine years and then hang you."

Rathburn nodded. "You're sure an ambitious man, sheriff. The killings now—there was White and Moran, that you know about, an' a skunk over in California named Carlisle, that you don't know about, I guess. I couldn't get away from those shootings, sheriff."

"How about Simpson and Manley?" countered the official scornfully.

"Not on my list," said Rathburn quickly. "I heard I was given credit for those affairs, but I wasn't a member of the party where they were snuffed out."

"If you can make a jury believe that, you're in the clear," said Long. "But how about that stage driver yesterday morning?"

Rathburn's face darkened. "I got in from the west just in time to stumble on that gang of rats," he flared. "That's how your men came to see me. The chase happened to come in my direction, that's all."

"If you can prove that, you're all right again," the sheriff pointed out. "The law will go halfway with you, Rathburn."

"An' I probably wouldn't be able to prove it," said Rathburn bitterly. "Those other things—the bank job an' the gamblin' stick-ups—I was younger then, sheriff, an' no one can say that that bank sharp didn't do me dirt."

"If you can show a good, reasonable doubt in those other cases, Rathburn, I know the court would show leniency if the jury found you guilty on the counts you just mentioned," said the sheriff earnestly. "I'm minded to believe you, so far as yesterday's work was concerned. I have an idea or two myself, but I haven't been able to get a good line on my man. He's too tricky. Of course I'm not going to urge you to do anything against your will. I appreciate your position. You're a fugitive, but you have your liberty. Perhaps you can get away clean, though I doubt it. But there's that chance, and you've naturally got to take it into consideration. And you're not sure of anything if you go to trial on the charges there are against you. But it would count like sixty in your favor, Rathburn, if you'd give yourself up."

Rathburn stared at the official speculatively. His thoughts flashed back along the years to the time when he and Laura Mallory had played together as children. He thought of what she had said the night before about the compass. He shifted uneasily on his feet.

"Funny thing, sheriff, but I had some such fool notion," he confessed.

"It takes nerve, Rathburn, for a man who is wanted to walk in and give up his gun," said the sheriff quietly.

"I was thinking of something else," said Rathburn. "An' I've got to think some more about this that you've sort of put in my head."

"How much time do you want, Rathburn?" asked Long.

Rathburn scowled. "Our positions haven't changed," he said curtly. "I'm still the man you're lookin' for. I'll have to do my thinkin' on my own hook, I reckon."

"Just as you say," Long said gravely. "Go over what I've told you carefully and don't make any more false moves while you're making up your mind. You wounded one of my men yesterday."

"I shot high on purpose," Rathburn pointed out. "I didn't aim to be corralled just then."

"I know you did," was the sheriff's rejoinder. "I know you could have killed him. I gave you credit for it."

"You give me credit for quite a few things, sheriff," said Rathburn whimsically. "An' now you'll have to give me credit for bein' plumb cautious. It ain't my intention to have my thinking spell disturbed."

His gun flashed in his hand.

"I'll have to ask you to go inside an' occupy one of your own cells, sheriff, while I'm wanderin' around an' debatin' the subject."

"I know you too well, Rathburn," said the sheriff with a grim smile. "I'm not armed, and I don't intend to obey you. If you intend to shoot you might just as well start!"

Rathburn gazed at him coolly for a moment; then he shoved his gun in its holster and leaped.

Quick as he was, Long was quicker. The sheriff was out of his chair in a twinkling, and he made a flying tackle, grasping Rathburn about the legs. The two fell to the floor and rolled over and over in their struggles.

Although Rathburn was the larger man, the sheriff seemed made of steel wire. He twisted out of Rathburn's holds, one after another. In one great effort he freed himself and leaped to his feet. Rathburn was up instantly. Long drove a straight right that grazed Rathburn's jaw and staggered him, but Rathburn blocked the next blow and succeeded in upper-cutting his left to the sheriff's chin.

They went into another clinch, and the sheriff got the better of the close fighting. Rathburn's face was bleeding, where it had been cut on a leg of the chair, when they were struggling on the floor. The feel of trickling crimson drove him mad. He threw Long off in an amazing burst of strength and then sent his right to the sheriff's jaw with all the force he could put into it.

Long dropped to the floor, and Rathburn raised him and carried him to a door leading into the jail proper. As he drew open the door, he drew his gun and threw it down on the astonished jailer who was dozing in the little office outside the bars.

"Open up!" Rathburn commanded.

The jailer hastened to obey, as he saw the appearance of Rathburn's face and the dangerous look in his eyes.

Rathburn compelled him at the point of his gun to lead the way to a cell in the rear, unlock it, and go inside. Rathburn pushed Long, who was regaining his senses, in after him and took the jailer's keys.

"Tell Long I'm thinkin' over what he told me," he said to the jailer, as he locked them in.

Then he hurried back to the entrance, locked it, and tossed the keys in through the bars.

He wet his handkerchief with ice water from a tank in Long's office, wiped his face clean, and left the building.



CHAPTER XXXI

A NEW COUNT

As Rathburn wended his way to an obscure restaurant on a side street of the little town which was the county seat of Mesquite County, his thoughts were busy with what he had learned from the sheriff. He knew the official had been right when he said that it would react in Rathburn's favor if he gave himself up. Some of the counts on which he would be indicted undoubtedly would be quashed; others he might disprove. There was a chance that he might get off lightly; in any event he would have to spend a number of years in prison.

Rathburn looked up at the bright sky. At the end of the street he could see the desert, and far beyond, the blue outlines of the mountains. It seemed to him that the sunshine was brighter on this deadly morning when he struggled with troubled thoughts. Having always lived in the open, liberty meant everything to him.

But constantly his thoughts reverted to Laura Mallory. What did she expect of him? What would she think if he were to give himself up? Her talk of the compass—his conscience—bothered him. Why should she say such a thing if she didn't feel more than a friendly interest in him? Did she care for him then?

Rathburn laughed mirthlessly, as he entered the eating house. There was no doubt of it—he was a fool. He continued to think, as he ate; by the time he had finished he found himself in a bad mental state. He wiped some moisture from his forehead, as he left the restaurant. For a moment he felt panicky. He was wavering!

The tenor of his thoughts caused him to abandon his caution. He turned the corner by the State Bank of Hope and walked boldly down the street. Few pedestrians were about. None took any special notice of him, and none recognized him. He turned in at the resort he had visited when he first arrived that morning.

He started, as he entered the place. A deep frown gathered on his face. Gomez, Eagen's Mexican henchman, was at the bar. At first Rathburn feigned ignorance of the Mexican's presence; but Gomez smiled at him, his white teeth glistening against his swarthy skin.

Rathburn marveled at the audacity of the Mexican, who undoubtedly was one of those who had held up the stage the day before, in coming boldly into town. Then he recollected that the sheriff had mentioned he had an idea of who was responsible for that job, but had been unable to get a line on his man. Eagen and his gang were evidently well covered up. If such were the case, Eagen himself might be in town.

It was because he thought he might learn something from Gomez that he finally acknowledged the fellow's greeting by a nod.

The Mexican left the bar and walked up to him.

"We are not afraid to come in town, Mr. Coyote," he murmured.

"Drop that name," said Rathburn sharply in an undertone. "Is Eagen here?"

"He is here," replied Gomez with another display of his white teeth. "You want to see him? He is up talking with Mr. Doane."

Doane! Rathburn remembered the name instantly as being the same which had been spoken by Laura Mallory the night before. He remembered, too, the man who had been there and who had driven away to town in the little car. He surmised that this man had been Doane; and it had been he who had brought the information of Rathburn's arrival and the posse's pursuit to the girl.

"You want to see him?" asked Gomez craftily.

Rathburn had a consuming aversion for the wily Mexican. He hated the shifty look in his eyes and his oily tongue.

"Not yet," he answered shortly.

"He will be here maybe," said Gomez eagerly. "It is you change your mind?"

Rathburn scowled. The Mexican then knew all about the proposition Eagen had made to him the night before. Perhaps he could get more information from him than he had suspected.

"What job is it Eagen is planning?" he asked in a low voice.

There were several men at the bar now, and both Rathburn and the Mexican were keeping an eye upon them.

"Oh, that he will have to tell you himself when you are ready," Gomez replied.

Rathburn snorted in keen disgust. But Gomez sidled up to him.

"You go to the Mallory rancho last night," he whispered. "You are not the only one there last night." His smile flashed again, as Rathburn looked at him quickly.

"There was another there before," he continued; "Mr. Doane. He goes there, too. You have been away a long time, and Mr. Doane take the advantage."

Rathburn's eyes were narrowing, and the Mexican evidently took his face for an encouraging sign.

"Mr. Doane—he is not lucky at cards," continued Gomez. "He like to play, and he play lots; but not too well. Maybe he have more luck in love—while you are away."

"What do you mean?" asked Rathburn through his teeth.

"Oh, you do not know?" The Mexican raised his black brows. "While you are away, Mr. Doane make hay while the sun shine bright. He was there much. He was there last night before you. He tries hard to steal your senorita before you come, and he will try to keep her now." He winked slyly.

Rathburn suddenly grasped him by the throat. "What are you tryin' to say?" he asked sternly, shaking the Mexican like a rat.

Gomez broke away, his black eyes darting fire. "You are a fool!" he exclaimed. "You get nothing. Even your woman, she is stole right under your eyes. Doane, he goes there, and he gets her. She fall for him fast. Then she talks to you with sugar in her mouth, and you believe. Bah! You think the Senorita Mallory——"

Rathburn's open palm crashed against the Mexican's mouth.

"Don't speak her name, you greaser!"

Gomez staggered back under the force of the slap. His eyes were pin points of fire. He raised his right hand to his mouth and then to the brim of his sombrero. His breath came in hissing gasps, as the hatred blazed in his glittering eyes.

Rathburn's face was white under its heavy coating of tan. He saw the few men at the bar turn and look in their direction, and he realized instinctively that these men were gamblers and shady characters who were probably friends of Eagen and his gang.

"I give you my regards," cried Gomez in a frenzy of rage. "You—gringo!"

His right hand tipped his sombrero in a lightning move, and there was a flash in the sunlight filtering through the back windows, as Rathburn's gun barked at his hip.

Gomez crumpled backward to the floor, as the knife dropped from his grasp at the beginning of the throw.

Rathburn, still holding his smoking gun ready, walked rapidly past the men at the bar and gained the open through the door at the rear.



CHAPTER XXXII

THE COMPASS FAILS

In the alley behind the buildings fronting on the main street, Rathburn paused in indecision, while he shoved his gun into the holster on his thigh. He had known by the look in Gomez's eyes that he was going to throw a knife. Instinct had caused him to watch the Mexican's right hand, and, in the instant when Gomez had secured the knife from his hat and snapped back his hand for the throw, Rathburn had drawn and fired. He knew well the dexterity of a man of Gomez's stamp with a knife. The gun route was the only chance to protect his life. But Rathburn realized, too, that he had shot to kill!

He had been incensed by the Mexican's subtle insinuations—maddened by the way he leered when he spoke Laura Mallory's name. He had virtually been driven to it. Even now he could not see how he could have avoided it.

Securing his horse, Rathburn rode swiftly around a back street to a small barn on the edge of the desert. He ordered his mount watered and fed. He had known the man who owned this barn, but the individual who attended to his horse was a new employee. He sat in the little front office which also served as the quarters of the night man, while his horse was being looked after. He had not removed his saddle.

Rathburn's thoughts dwelt on what Gomez had said. There was no question but that the Mexican had taken liberties in saying what he did, but there was more than a glimmer of truth in his statements. Rathburn had seen the man leaving Laura Mallory on the porch of the Mallory ranch house. She had mentioned a man named Doane as having brought word that he, Rathburn, was back in the country and in more trouble. Now Gomez had identified this visitor as Doane, the man who had been calling on Laura Mallory regularly. Rathburn's brows wrinkled at the thought. But why not? What hold had he upon her? It certainly wasn't within his rights to resent the fact that another man had found the girl attractive. But, to his increasing torment, he found that he did resent it; he couldn't help it!

Suddenly he remembered that Gomez had said Eagen was paying a call on Doane. What could Eagen have to do with Doane which would warrant his visiting him early in the morning? Rathburn recalled that Gomez had intimated that Doane liked to play cards. Was the man then a professional gambler? But no, Gomez had said he did not play well.

Rathburn tried to recollect where he had seen this man Doane before. The blond face and mustache were vaguely familiar. Again he strove to place the man without result.

He shrugged his shoulders, drew out his gun, and replaced the empty shell with a fresh cartridge. He dropped the weapon back into his holster and went outside to see about his horse. The dun still was feeding. Rathburn contented himself with looking over his saddle and readjusting the small slicker pack on its rear. Then he paced the length of the barn, frowning in a thoughtful mood.

There was only one thing he was reasonably sure of; no one around the town knew that he was the outlaw known as The Coyote. He had not seen anybody he knew except the sheriff, and that official was safely out of the way for the present. Gomez had mentioned his name when they had first met, but he had not been heard save by Rathburn. Therefore, if they were looking for the man who had shot down Gomez, they were merely looking for a man measuring up to his description; and Rathburn doubted if anything would be done until the authorities had been notified. Visitors to the sheriff's office would find Long out and would assume that he had not returned from the chase in the hills. It might be another hour before the sheriff's predicament was discovered. And in that hour——

Rathburn caught himself up with another shrug. He was falling a prey to his former hopeless trend of thought. Resentment was swelling within him again, and he struggled to put it down. Perhaps it would be safer to yield to the inclination to take a chance on the courts.

It was after nine o'clock when he rode out of the barn. He proceeded straight toward the main street of the town. He was struggling with a half-formed resolve; summoning courage by shutting out all recollections save that of Laura Mallory's apparently earnest remark about the compass.

Reaching the main street, he started to turn the corner at the bank building when he suddenly checked his horse and stared at two people walking up the opposite side of the street. Rathburn recognized the girl immediately. She was Laura Mallory. A moment later he caught a glimpse of the man's face, as he half turned toward Rathburn, laughing. He had taken Laura's arm. It was Doane!

The realization that Laura had come to town and was in the company of Doane stunned Rathburn. More than anything else it had the effect of convincing him that Gomez had been right when he had hinted that Doane was successful in love. Hadn't she told him to take his gun when Eagen had been waiting for him? Had she thought, perhaps, that there would be gun play, and that Eagen might emerge the victor, thus assuring her that he, Rathburn, would bother her no more?

Rathburn's eyes narrowed, and his face froze, as he watched Laura and Doane out of sight up the street. He knew now why he had had to come back. There was nothing left—nothing but his dreams, his sinister reputation, and his gun!

He looked about in a different way from that in which he had first surveyed the street, now showing life. His gaze encountered the bank building. The door was open. The bank doubtless opened at nine o'clock. He remembered that this was so. A second of indecision, then he moved in front of the bank. He dismounted, flung the reins over the dun's head, and entered briskly.

Two men were behind the screens of the two cages. Rathburn approached a window and nodded to the man behind it. Then his gun leaped into his hand, and he covered the pair.

"Reach high an' hard!" he commanded. "An' quick!"

The men in the cages hesitated; but the look in Rathburn's eyes convinced them, and they raised their hands over their heads. Rathburn leaped to the ledge outside the window and climbed nimbly over the wire network of the cage. Then he dropped to the floor inside.



CHAPTER XXXIII

FAST WORK

Quickly and methodically Rathburn went about his work. His face was drawn and pale, but his eyes glittered with a deadly earnestness which was not lost upon the two men who obeyed his orders without question. The very boldness of his intrepid undertaking must have convinced them that here was no common bandit. He herded them back toward the vault at the point of his gun. Then he ordered them into the vault.

"Now then," he said crisply, "you know what I'm after. Trot it out!"

One of the men, evidently an assistant cashier or head teller, who was in charge, opened a compartment of the inner safe and pulled out a drawer. Rathburn could see the packages of bills. He looked quickly about and saw a pile of empty coin sacks on a shelf.

"Fill two of those large sacks," he instructed the other man.

The clerk hastened to carry out his orders and jammed package after package of bills into one of the largest of the coin sacks. Both men were white-faced and frightened. They did not try to delay the proceedings. Rathburn looked dangerous; and what was more sinister, he went about his nefarious business in a cool, calm, confident manner. He did not look like the Rathburn who had visited Laura Mallory the night before, nor the Rathburn who had talked with the sheriff. In this critical moment he was in look, mood, and gesture The Coyote at his worst—worthy of all the terrible things that had been whispered about him.

It may be that the bank employees suspected as much. It may be that they didn't believe it would be possible for the outlaw to make his get-away in broad daylight, and it was certain that they stood in mighty fear of him. They cowered back, pale and shaking, as he calmly took the sack, heavy with its weight of bank notes of healthy denomination, and stepped to the entrance to the big vault.

"When they come an' let you out," said Rathburn, "you can tell them that the gent who helped himself to the berries in the cash box is just beginnin' to cash in on the reputation that's been wished on him!"

He smiled grimly, as he swung the light, inner door of the vault shut and clamped down the lever. He slid his gun into its holster and, carrying the sack of loot, walked out of the door of the second cage toward the main entrance of the bank. As he reached the door, a man came up the steps. Rathburn recognized Doane, and his lips curled in a snarl. It was the first time Doane had come face to face with him, but the man started back in surprise.

"Rathburn!" he exclaimed.

Rathburn hesitated. His first feeling of instinctive animosity fled. He scowled in a swift effort to place the man, and the thought that in an indirect way Doane was partly responsible for what had come to pass flashed through his tortured brain. This brought swift comprehension of his immediate danger. Now that he had taken the decisive step he would have to call upon all his resources of courage and cunning to protect his liberty. The die had been cast!

He hurried past Doane, swung into the saddle, and rode at a swift pace around the corner, leaving Doane standing on the steps of the bank, staring after him with an expression of amazement on his face.

Rathburn knew it would be but a matter of a very few minutes before the knowledge that the State Bank of Hope had been held up and robbed—would be common property in the town. The very boldness of the robbery had insured its success, for none would dream that a lone bandit would have the nerve to come into town in broad daylight, hold up the bank, and attempt to run for it across the open, burning spaces of the desert. But he was not aware of the coincidence which would make the news of the robbery known sooner than he expected.

At the end of the side street he struck boldly across the desert, driving in his spurs and urging the gallant dun to its top speed. In a matter of minutes he was out of view of the town—a speck bobbing amid the clumps of mesquite, palo verde, and cactus. He raced for the mountains in the northwest.

There was another element of uncertainty which entered into the probability of quick pursuit, as he had shrewdly divined. It might be some time before the sheriff's predicament was discovered. Meanwhile most of the male population was scouring the vicinity of Imagination Range looking for him, and there would be no one to lead a second posse until the sheriff was liberated. There was nothing in sight behind him toward town except the vista of dry desert vegetation swimming in the heat. Rathburn rode on with a feeling of security, so far as trouble from that quarter was concerned.

His thoughts were in a turmoil, and he passed a shaking hand over his damp brow. The resentment had given way to grim decision and determination. Well, he had shown them what The Coyote could do. They would remember that job; they could lay that at his door. The proceeds would carry him a long way. They had given him his reputation, and he would make the game worth the candle!

The old fierce defiance of misguided youth was in his veins. He felt a wild exultation seize him. Doubt and all problems were set aside. His eyes glowed with a reckless light, as he raced on toward the blue hills.

Doane had known him—had called him by name. Therefore Doane knew he was The Coyote—the outlaw with a price on his head. So much the better. He wanted them to know!

The sun was at its zenith, as he passed above the Mallory place. He did not once turn his head and look down upon it. His jaw was squared, his lips pressed tight, as he guided his horse into the winding foothills of the range. In a narrow canyon he dismounted and undid his slicker pack. When he again tied it behind the saddle it contained the bag which held the bank notes he had taken that morning. He pushed on in the early afternoon.

He now rode with more caution. The fact that he had not seen any members of the posses which were scouring the hills, he accredited to ignorance on their part of the fact that he had been at the Mallory ranch the night before and had gone into town. These things they had hardly had time to learn. More than likely they had assumed that he had crossed the mountains, and it was possible that most of the men on the hunt were on the east side of the range. He became more and more convinced of this as the afternoon wore on, but he did not relax his vigilance. His face had clouded.

"We made a mistake, hoss," he muttered, "in not remembering to hunt up Mike Eagen first thing."

In the quick moves following his sudden momentous decision, he had forgotten Eagen. This fact now bothered him. He had a score to settle with Eagen on general principles. This did not mean that he necessarily would have to shoot Eagen down; but he wanted Eagen to hear straight out what he thought of him. It might be a long time before he could gratify that desire after the events of this day.

Slowly he proceeded, not once venturing upon a high spot until he had investigated by crawling to a vantage point on his hands and knees. It was sundown when he saw the first riders. Two were farther down the slopes to westward, and several more were far to eastward. It was true then that Long had thrown a cordon about the section of the mountains which he had been seen to enter the day before.

However, Rathburn's knowledge of the range and the secrets of the mountain trails gave him a distinct advantage over the inexperienced members of the posses. True, there were deputies and some others who were experienced; but they were in the minority.

Rathburn realized that the sheriff must have been released some hours before, and that his escapade of the morning would stimulate the man hunt. The rewards would be increased, and every able-bodied man in Hope would doubtless join in the scramble for the reward money. He was satisfied that Sheriff Long's order would be to "shoot on sight!"

On the very crest of the range he paused in the shelter of the rocks. There still was a fair chance for him to get away clean to eastward. The sheriff had not had time to get more men over there, and by making a break into the southeast and then cutting straight to the east, there was a strong possibility that he would succeed in circling around the posse and effect his escape.

But something was drawing him to Joe Price! He did not quite understand that it was the desire to confide in and confess to his friend what had actuated his choice of moral trails. But the yearning was there, and he was yielding to it. He conjectured shrewdly that Long might not dream that he would have the temerity again to enter the very district where he was being sought. It was his belief that the best place to hide from a posse was in the midst of it!

It was this confidence, almost as much as his skill in trailing, which enabled him to gain a point above Joe Price's cabin in the early twilight. He waited patiently until the curtain of night had fallen, and the stars had replaced the fading banners of the sunset, before he slipped down a steep slope and walked his horse into the canyon below the old miner's abode.



CHAPTER XXXIV

THE COMPASS WAVERS

Joe Price regarded Rathburn with a curious look in his eyes when he beheld him in the doorway of his cabin. He stepped swiftly to the one window, which was over the table, and dropped the burlap shade. Then he closed the door.

"So they've been here?" asked Rathburn.

"What else could you expect?" replied Price testily. "They're combin' these hills for you." He looked at Rathburn keenly, but Rathburn only smiled.

"That's not news to me," he said quietly; "I've percolated through their lines twice."

"Stay here," said Price, "and I'll look after your horse—or were you hidin' up all day?"

"No such luck," answered Rathburn grimly.

The old man looked at him curiously; then he went out of the door, closing it carefully after him.

Rathburn found cold food, put it on the table, and sat down to eat. When Price returned he had finished. The old miner sat down in a chair opposite Rathburn.

"Now, out with it," he said. "Something has happened. I can see it in the way you look an' act. What's up?"

Rathburn carefully rolled a brown-paper cigarette, snapped a match into flame, and lit it before he replied. He was half smiling.

"I held up the State Bank of Hope this mornin' an' extracted a bag of perfectedly good bills," he announced. "Didn't bother with the counter money. Made 'em serve me from the vault."

Joe Price's eyelids did not even flicker.

"Any idear what you got?" he asked.

"Not whatsoever," replied Rathburn coolly; "but the smallest I saw on top of the package was a fifty."

Price nodded. "You got plenty," he said.

Rathburn scowled. He had expected some kind of an outbreak—at least a remonstrance from his old friend. He glanced about uneasily and then glared defiance at Price.

"It had to come, Joe," he asserted. "There wasn't any way out of it. What's more, I killed that greased pard of Eagen's, Gomez."

"How so?" queried Price.

"Well, I'll tell you, Joe, but I don't expect it to go any further. He said something about Laura Mallory an' a man named Doane, an' I didn't like it. I slapped him. Then he went for a knife he had in his hat."

The old man nodded again. "I see," he said simply. "You shot him. Not a bad riddance. How did you come to rob the bank, Rathburn?"

Rathburn's gaze again shifted uneasily. Then he rose with a burning look at Price, walked up and down the slanting length of the cabin, and halted before the old miner.

"Joe," he said in a tremulous voice, "it's the last ditch. I can't get away from it. I thought I could tell you—an old friend—the whole story, but I can't, Joe. That's the devil of it! There's something wrong with me. I reckon I'm one of those fellows who just had everything mapped out for him. I had some trouble, Joe, an' it's started something—something I can't control. They had to remember me, an' I gave them something to remember me by!"

"Who do you mean by 'they,' Rathburn?" asked the miner.

"Sheriff Long an' the others," said Rathburn quickly. "There wasn't a chance for me. Why, I was thinking of giving myself up only this morning. Joe, it ain't in the pictures—not after I let Gomez have it. Even after I stopped Gomez I had an idea that I could face the music. Besides, Joe, there's more to this than you think. They call me The Coyote, an', Joe, so help me, from now on I am!"

"Did you stop at the Mallory place?" asked Price quietly.

Rathburn did not reply at once. With agony in his eyes he looked at his old friend, and suddenly he bristled:

"I might as well never have gone there," he flung out. "I see now I wasn't wanted. I found out as much from Gomez. He told me about Laura's affair with that fellow Doane. But what could I expect? I wasn't entitled to no thought from her, an' I should have known as much. I'm just a plain fool—a worse one now than I was before."

Joe Price's faded blue eyes glowed with comprehension.

"You thought Laura had put you off, so you gave in an' robbed the bank, Rathburn, an' just naturally made a mess of things when you had a chance," said the old man stoutly. "That ain't actin' with a lick of sense. You wasn't gettin' square with anybody, an' you wasn't doin' that girl right by takin' the word of Gomez."

"I saw the two of them, her an' Doane, in Hope this morning, walkin' down the street, arm in arm, laughing—probably over me," Rathburn replied bitterly. "I've got eyes, and I can put two an' two together. I'm only The Coyote with her, and I'll be The Coyote. She took my gun an' then gave it back when Mike Eagen showed up, thinkin' maybe there'd be gun play, an' I'd get mine."

"Now you shet up!" shrilled Price. "I reckon you've lost all the brains you ever did have? Do you think Laura would keep your gun, knowin' there might be trouble, an' you wouldn't have any way to protect yourself? Don't you suppose she knows you're as fast as Eagen? She's no fool, if you are. But, if you've got to stay the fool, you better be lightin' out with your winnings. An' you're not takin' the bank's money, either."

"What do you mean by that?" scowled Rathburn, who had been thoughtful while his friend was speaking.

"I had money in that bank, Rathburn, an' so did Mallory, an' there's a lot more of us——"

"I'll give you back your money," Rathburn growled. "Anyway, they're protected by insurance, an' the insurance people can hunt me till doomsday—I guess." He was cooling off rapidly.

"Maybe they are," said Price, "an' maybe they ain't. But it ain't goin' to help you none the way you're goin' to feel about it later, no matter who loses it."

Rathburn was pacing the room, frowning. Twice he started to speak, but the words failed to come. Then he put a question. "Who is this man Doane? He knew me, for I met him when I was comin' out of the bank, an' he called me by name."

"Doane is cashier of the bank down at Hope. He was likely just comin' to work when you met him."

Rathburn stared with an incredulous expression. "You're sure?" But even as he put the question, Rathburn placed his man.

"I'm dead certain on it," declared Price.

Rathburn sat down heavily and took his hat in his hand.

"That makes it different," he said dully, as if to himself. "Maybe she's stuck on him for his money, an' maybe she's stuck on him because he's a good guy. Maybe this thing would hurt him."

"Oh, I don't think they'd blame him," said Price with a note of consolation in his voice; "an' he probably wouldn't lose nothin'."

"But she might think—it might be that she——" Rathburn swung his hat to his head and rose. He walked toward the door, but Joe Price got in his way.

"Where you goin'?" he asked.

"To the Mallory ranch!"

"You can't get there!" said Price hoarsely, pushing him back.

"I've got to get there!" answered Rathburn grimly, pushing the old man aside. "I must see Laura."

"You got here just by luck," Price pointed out. "An' there's more men in by now. Maybe they know you're here. But wait till I get your horse—he's hid."

"Get him," Rathburn commanded.

After a moment's hesitation Price went out the door, and he returned almost instantly. He walked to the table and blew out the light. "Go to the door an' see," he urged in an excited voice.

Rathburn hurried out. High on the mountain above the canyon a fire was burning.

"It's the signal," Price whispered in his ear.

"Joe, do me a last favor," said Rathburn in a queer voice. "Get me my hoss before it's too late!"

The old man obediently slipped into the shadows behind the cabin.



CHAPTER XXXV

GUNS IN THE NIGHT

When Joe Price returned, leading Rathburn's horse which he had fed and watered, and turned over the reins, he spoke swiftly in a low voice:

"They'll be watchin' hard for you down the canyon, boy. Bob Long's sure to mean business this 'ere time."

"Well, I know it," said Rathburn with a low, mirthless laugh. "I locked him in his own jail this mornin' to get a clean chance to decide to give myself up. Then, when the chance came—well, he surely thinks now that I put him away to cover my tracks. I expect the boys have got their shootin' orders."

"Listen!" whispered Price excitedly. "Wait till I get my own horse, an' I'll strike east across the hump. That'll start 'em after me maybe—sure it will, Rathburn! They'll think I'm you, see, an' light right out after me."

Rathburn laid one hand on the old man's shoulder and put the other over Joe's mouth.

"Joe, you're all excited—plumb unreasonable excited. You know I wouldn't let you do that. Now don't hand me more worries than I've got. Be good, Joe." He patted Price's shoulder, then swung into the saddle.

The old miner looked up at him, his face showing strangely white in the dim starlight, pierced by the fire on the peak.

"I didn't tell 'em you'd been here, Roger; don't forget that!"

"I knew that, Joe," Rathburn chuckled. "So long."

Swiftly he rode down the little meadow below the spring into the deep shadows of the canyon which led down a steep trail to the desert. Presently he checked his pace until he was walking the gallant dun. He wished to avoid as much noise as possible, and to save the horse for a final spurt down nine miles of desert to the Mallory ranch from the mouth of the canyon—providing he got out.

For two reasons he had deliberately chosen this route: it was shortest, and it offered the best going. He must save the dun's strength. Rathburn knew the limits of his splendid mount; knew they had almost been reached; knew there was just enough left in the horse to make the ranch without killing him. The Coyote would surrender before he would kill his horse to effect his escape or gain an objective!

Thus they slipped down the narrow canyon, with the desert stars gleaming white above the lava hills of Imagination Range, while the fire glowed on the peak above Joe Price's cabin. Rathburn's face was pale under his tan; his thoughts were in a turmoil, but his lips were pressed into a fine line that denoted an unwavering determination. Had Sheriff Bob Long seen his face at this time he might have glimpsed another angle of Rathburn's many-sided character—an angle which would have given him pause.

Rathburn looked behind, and his eyes narrowed. Two fires were burning on the peak.

Already the watchers were cognizant of his latest move and were signaling to those who might be below. He wondered vaguely why they had not surrounded Joe Price's cabin while he had been there. Then he realized he had been there hardly long enough for his pursuers to get there in any number. Suddenly his thoughts were broken into by a streak of red in the canyon depths below him. He swerved close against the rock wall, drew his gun, and, speaking to the dun, drove in his spurs.

A short distance below he could see the faint glow of the starlight night and knew he was near the canyon's mouth. There were more streaks of red, and bullets whistled past him. Then Rathburn raised his gun and sent half its deadly contents crashing down into the trail ahead.

There followed a few moments of quiet, broken only by the harsh, ringing pound of his mount's hoofs. Rathburn could see open country just ahead. Then a flash of fire came from almost under him, and the big dun lunged into the air, half twisting, and came down upon some object under its hoofs. The dun bounded on in great leaps, literally flying through the air, as Rathburn thrilled with the knowledge that the horse had knocked down the man who had sought to kill him.

From above came sharp reports, and the blackness of the high canyon walls was streaked with spurts of flame. Leaden death hurled itself into the rock trail behind him. Then he was out of the canyon, riding like mad through the white desert night toward his goal—the Mallory ranch!

* * * * *

Laura Mallory stood on the porch of the little ranch house, staring out across the dimly lit spaces of desert. A worried look appeared in her eyes. The front door was open, and in the small sitting room her father was reading under a shaded lamp at the table. At times the worried look in the girl's eyes would change to one of wistfulness, and twice the tears welled.

Presently she straightened and listened intently, looking into the south instead of northwest. Her ears, keen as are those of the desert born, had caught a sound—a succession of faint sounds—in the still night air. Gradually the sound became more and more distinct, and the worried expression of her face increased. She hurried into the sitting room.

"Father, Fred Doane is coming out from town," she said breathlessly. "Do you suppose they've got him?"

"Maybe so, girlie," said the old man. "It was a bold business, an' what could you expect?"

"Oh, I don't know. I can't seem to understand. All this trouble is coming so suddenly. Father, are you sure you heard Roger refuse to aid that man Eagen in some shady scheme last night?"

"Ab-so-lutely," declared Mallory. "I've been wondering, daughter, if he didn't turn Eagen down because he had this scheme of his own."

The purr of a motor came to them from outside, and Laura, hastily wiping her eyes with a small handkerchief, went slowly out.

"Laura!" cried Fred Doane, as he came up the steps, holding out his hands.

"What—what is it, Fred?" she faltered. "Have they caught——"

"Not yet," said Doane briskly, as Mallory appeared in the door. "An' they probably won't get him. He's clever, that fellow."

The bank cashier indulged in a frown, but he was plainly nervous.

"Then what news do you bring here?" Mallory demanded. "Did you come to tell us he'd got away clean?"

"Why, not—not exactly," said Doane. "I meant to tell you that, of course, but I also want to have a little talk with Laura. Can I see you alone, Laura, for a few minutes?"

"Oh, that's it," snorted Mallory, as he stamped back into the house.

"You have something to tell me you don't want father to hear?" asked the girl in a worried voice.

"Laura, there's something I must tell you right away," said Doane nervously, leading her to the shadow of the far end of the porch. There he turned and faced her, taking her hands.

"Laura, you must have seen it for a long time. You could hardly help but see it. I love you, Laura—I love you with all my heart, and I want you to be my wife."

The girl drew back in astonishment.

"But why do you have to tell me this so suddenly?" she asked, her color coming and going.

"Because I want you to marry me, Laura, to-night!" he said.

Again he reached for her hands. "Please, Laura," he pleaded. "It means so much to me. Don't you care for me, sweetheart? I've been led to think you did, and I intended to tell you soon, but all this trouble—this terrible trouble to-day—has nearly driven me mad. I'm afraid I'll go mad, Laura, if I don't have something else to think about. Oh, Laura, marry me and help me out of this big trouble."

"Fred!" exclaimed the girl, startled by his passion of pleading. "Fred, I've never tried to make you think I cared for you. And now—well, I'd have to have a long time to think it over. How would it help you out of trouble, Fred? Tell me that."

"By helping me forget—by helping me forget that our bank is ruined! By saving my mind! By keeping me from going mad! By——"

"Fred you must not talk so. That robbery has unnerved you for the time being, that's all. You're excited and so——"

"I'm more than excited," he declared, trying to put his hands on her shoulders. "I'm about—about—gone! Laura, marry me to-night, and we'll go somewhere—we'll go somewhere right from here, from this ranch—go a long way and get married in the morning. Then we can stay away for a short time till I get to be myself again."

"No, Fred," replied the girl in convincing tones, "I can't. It would be asking too much even if I loved you. Come inside, and I'll make you some strong tea. You can talk to father and me and regain control of yourself."

There was a moment of silence. Mallory with the lamp had come to the door at the sound of Doane's loud voice. He was looking at them. Then out of the night came the pound of hoofs. There was no mistaking the sound.

Doane whirled around, as a rider came out of the sea of mesquite and greasewood and flung himself from the saddle in front of the porch. The bank cashier turned toward Mallory. His face was haggard. He seemed to sway, as the rider came stamping up the steps. He darted for the door, but had hardly got inside before the rider caught him and made him face about. Mallory hurried in with the lamp, followed by the girl.

Doane was quailing before the new arrival. Both cried out, as they saw it was Eagen who had broken out so suddenly. Eagen towered above the shrinking Doane.

"So you thought you'd double cross me, did you, eh?" came Eagen's harsh voice, and he slapped Doane in the face.

Doane went red, then white. For a moment intense hatred and anger flashed in his eyes, but he made no move to avenge the insult. Slowly the light in his eyes died again to fear, as he realized his inability to cope with this man of strength.

"Here, Eagen, you can't come into my house and act like that," said Mallory stoutly, putting the lamp on the table.

Laura still stood in the doorway, stunned by the rapid and extraordinary turn of events. Eagen turned on Mallory with a snarl.

"Shut up, you old fool! Don't butt in where you ain't wanted, an' on something you don't know anything about."

"I know you're in my house!" Mallory retorted sternly.

"I'll only be here a minute," said Eagen with a sneer. "I'm goin' out of your house, an' I'm goin' to drag this sneaking cur out with me—out on the solid ground an' give him what's comin' to him. An' then," he added in a terrible voice; "I'm goin' to go out an' get his pardner—Rathburn, The Coyote—get him when the others can't come within a mile of him!"

"You can't take this man out of my house when he is my guest!" thundered Mallory.

"No?" asked Eagen contemptuously. "Well, you watch an' see! If you try to stop me you'll stop lead!"

He leaped forward and grasped Doane by the shoulder, jerked him forward, and stepped backward himself. He turned, dragging his victim, then stopped dead in his tracks with a hissing intake of breath. Rathburn was standing quietly in the doorway.



CHAPTER XXXVI

THE LOOT

In the heat of the threats and counterthreats which had been in progress, none of the occupants of the room had heard the newest arrival thunder up to the porch and leap from the saddle to the steps.

Eagen was dumfounded by Rathburn's sudden appearance. He saw that the girl was standing now in a front corner of the room, with her hands crossed on her breast, a look of horror in her eyes. Slowly Eagen recovered and loosed his hold on Doane, who staggered weakly to the table and leaned upon it. Eagen's sneer returned to his thick lips, and his narrowed gaze traveled quickly to a sack which Rathburn held in his left hand. Eagen's eyes shone with fury.

"Come here to fix up the divvy!" he choked. "I knew it was a put-up job between you an' Doane, an' I figured you'd maybe meet aroun' here where Doane would be sure to come to try an' take this woman with him."

Rathburn eyed him calmly. There was something of a deadly calm in his very posture, as he stood just within the threshold. He looked past Eagen to Doane. Then he tossed the sack on the table.

"Here's the money I took this morning, Doane," he said in matter-of-fact tones. "I came here to turn it over to you."

With bulging eyes Doane stared at him.

Eagen laughed loudly. "That's rich! Tryin' to make me think you was goin' to give it all to him? Don't you figure, Mr. Coyote, that I can throw my rope aroun' a simple scheme like you an' that shivering rat over by the table cooked up? That's why you turned down my little proposition last night. It was this same deal—only, me, an' Doane there was goin' to put it over. You figured I'd cut you out of your divvy, an' you figured right; he suspected I might double cross him, an' maybe he was right, too. So he cooked it up with you to pull the robbery, thinkin' you'd be more likely to go through an' give him his end. But the pair of you figured too many points when you thought I wouldn't catch on."

"That was what your proposition was to be, was it?" asked Rathburn pleasantly. "Rob the bank? Why, I didn't need a gang to rob the bank, Eagen, an' I didn't have anybody in with me. The trouble with you is that you've got too much imagination."

The drawl in which Rathburn concluded his speech drove Eagen to a frenzy.

"You lie, Rathburn!"

Rathburn smiled. "I might as well tell you that I intended to get away with that money that's on the table, Eagen. That's what I took it for. I'm making this little statement because something's liable to happen to one, or both of us. I didn't know Doane was cashier of the bank when I took it. I only recently learned that fact. Then I brought it back to turn over to him, not so much on his account as on account of Miss Mallory. I understand Doane is a very good friend of Miss Mallory. I wouldn't want his bank hurt for that reason."

It was Laura Mallory who cried out at this. She walked toward Rathburn, although he did not look at her.

"Why did you do it, Roger?" she asked in a trembling voice.

"I can't tell you that, ma'am," he said.

"But I know!" she cried. "I've guessed it. You saw Mr. Doane and me together in Hope to-day and remembered he was at the ranch last night, and——"

"Don't say any more, Laura!" Rathburn commanded sternly.

"Be still, daughter; it's best," said Mallory.

"Neither she, nor you, nor Doane, nor all of you together can talk me out of it!" roared Eagen. "It was a frame-up!"

In the deadly stillness that followed, Laura Mallory shrank back from the sight of two gunmen looking steadily into each other's eyes, their hands ready for the lightning draw—each waiting for the merest suggestion of the beginning of a move on the part of the other to get his weapon into action. But the draws did not come. The pregnant silence was broken by the thundering roll of many horses galloping into the yard about the house.

"There!" yelled Eagen in a voice of triumph. "There's your sweet little posse, Coyote!"

"I expected to see Bob Long when I came down here!" said Rathburn coolly, looking at Laura Mallory for the first time.



CHAPTER XXXVII

THE TEST OF A MAN

Several men stamped across the porch to the jingle of spur chains. Others broke in through the back door and entered the kitchen. Sheriff Bob Long appeared at the door, with two guns leveled.

"You're covered from both doors and all the windows, Rathburn!" he said sharply.

"That's almost just what I thought, sheriff," Rathburn drawled.

Long stepped into the room, shoving his guns into their holsters. Many other guns were covering Rathburn.

"What's the meaning of all this, anyway?" demanded Long with a puzzled expression on his face. His eyes widened, as he saw the bag of money on the table. "Is that the money that was taken from your bank this morning Mr. Doane?" he asked sharply.

Doane nodded weakly. The sheriff looked at Rathburn curiously.

"You brought it back? You was up to Joe Price's place."

"Yes, I brought it back, sheriff," said Rathburn cheerfully.

"Well, I'll be frank and tell you, Rathburn, that if you expect leniency after what happened this morning you might just as well give up that idea. Any man can change his mind when he sees he can't get away."

"That's up to you, sheriff," replied Rathburn, taking tobacco and papers from his shirt pocket. "As I was just tellin' our friend, Mr. Eagen, I brought it back on purpose, an' I expected to see you when I got here. I came near not gettin' here at that."

"You took a long chance," scowled Long. "But it won't get you much now at this stage of the game—especially after the way you led me to believe this morning that you were thinking of giving yourself up."

Eagen's laugh startled them.

"He brought it back to give it up an' himself, too?" he jeered. "He brought it back, sheriff, because he an' that rat of a Doane planned this thing. Coyote got away with the money an' came back here to divvy up with Doane. Didn't Doane make the same kind of a proposition to me? Didn't he tell me he was short in his accounts, an' it could be covered up if the bank was robbed, for then he could say more money was took than really was? I'll say he did. An' I was goin' to see if he'd go through with it, an' then I was going to wise you up so we could get him cold."

With knitted brows the sheriff stared at Eagen, then looked at the white-faced Doane.

"Tell him I'm tellin' the truth!" shouted Eagen at the shaking bank cashier. "You can't get out of it."

There was a tense moment.

Doane shook his head weakly; he was a picture of guilt.

"He got scared I wouldn't go through with the play, sheriff," Eagen continued. "Thought maybe I'd make off with all the kale. So he framed it with Rathburn, an' I caught 'em about to divide it here."

"He lies!" screamed Doane. "I didn't frame it with Rathburn. I can prove it. That man"—he pointed a shaking finger at Eagen—"has come to me with threats and made me take securities I knew were stolen. There's some of them in the bank now. Some of the stuff he took from the stage driver yesterday is there! He's pulled job after job——"

Eagen, recovering from his amazement at the man's outbreak, leaped and drove his powerful fist against Doane's jaw, knocking him nearly the length of the room, where he crashed with his head against the stones of the fireplace. Eagen turned quickly. His eyes were blazing red.