"Miss Delarue?"

"Yes."

"Wouldn't her father let her have you?"

Mead pulled his sombrero over his eyes with a sudden jerk, as the thought drove into his brain that he had not asked for her. The idea of asking Marguerite Delarue to marry him loomed before him as a gigantic impossibility, a thing not even to be dreamed of. He set his teeth together as he put into words for the first time the thing that was making him heart-sick, and plunged his spurs into the horse's flank with a thrust that sent it flying forward in a headlong run:

"She's going to marry Wellesly."

Tuttle lagged behind and thought about the situation. Sympathize though he did with Mead's trouble, he could not help a little feeling of gratification that after all there was to be no wife to come between them and take Emerson away from him and Nick. Emerson would forget all about it in a little while and their lifelong friendship would go on and be just as it had always been. On the whole, he felt pleased, and at the same time ashamed that he was pleased, that Miss Delarue was going to marry Wellesly.

"I don't think much of her judgment, though," he commented to himself, contemptuously. "Any girl that would take that scrub Wellesly when she might have Emerson Mead--well, she can't amount to much! Bah!

Emerson's better off without her!"

That evening, as the four men sat smoking under the cottonwoods, Mead said quietly:

"Judge, I'm goin' to pull my freight."

"What do you mean, Emerson?"

"I mean that this country will be better off without me and I'll be better off without it. I'm goin' to light out."

"Soon?"

"As soon as I can give away this ranch to the Fillmore outfit, or anybody that will have it. Nick, you and Tom better take it. I'll give it to you for love and affection and one dollar, if you want to take the fight along with it."

"Nothing would please me better," Nick replied, "than to clean up all your old scores against the Fillmore outfit, but I reckon if we take it we'll just run it for you until you-all come back."

"All right. I'll turn it over to you to-morrow. You can have all you can make out of it and if I'm not back inside of five years you can divide it between you."

"Everybody will say you are running away from the Whittaker case and that you are afraid to face a trial," said Judge Harlin.

"They may say what they d.a.m.n please," replied Mead.

Something like a smothered sob sounded from Tuttle's chair, and he exclaimed fiercely, "They'd better not say that to me!"

"There's no likelihood," said Judge Harlin, "that the grand jury will indict you, as things stand now, or that the case would amount to much if they should. If you want to stay and face the music, Emerson, I don't think you need to feel apprehensive about the result."

"Oh, I'm not afraid of the trial, if there should be one. But I don't think there'll be any. I'm not going to submit to arrest, trial, or anything else, until they can prove that Will Whittaker's dead, and they can't do that. I told Wellesly that I would let them arrest me whenever they can prove that Will Whittaker died with his boots on, and I'll stick to my word. I'll come back from anywhere this side of h.e.l.l for my trial whenever they can prove it, and you can tell 'em so, Judge. But I'm tired of this country and done with it, and I mean to pull my freight to-morrow."

"If you want to start from Plumas you'd better ride over with me,"

said Harlin, "and you'd better go prepared for trouble, for the Republicans won't let you leave the country if they can help it."

"All right. They can have all the trouble they want."

"You bet they can! All they want, and a whole heap more than they'll want when it comes!" exclaimed Nick.

"That's what's the matter! We'll see that they get it!" added Tom.

The next morning they stowed the gold nuggets under the seat of Judge Harlin's buggy, in which rode Mead and Harlin, with rifles and revolvers. Tuttle and Ellhorn rode on horseback, each with a revolver in his holster and a rifle slung beside him.

Tom Tuttle was much disturbed because he alone knew the secret reason for Emerson Mead's abrupt departure. He thought Nick ought to know it, too, but he could not persuade himself that it would be the square thing for him to tell it to Ellhorn. "Nick ought to know it," he said to himself, "or he'll sure go doin' some fool thing, thinkin'

Emerson's goin' away on account of the Whittaker business, but I reckon Emerson don't want me to leak anything he told me yesterday.

No, I sure reckon Emerson would say he didn't want me to go gabblin'

that to anybody. But Nick, he's got to know it."

After a time he chanced to recall the gossip about Miss Delarue and Wellesly, which Judge Harlin had told him, and decided that he was relieved from secrecy on that point. Still, he felt self-conscious and as if he were rubbing very near to Emerson's secret when he rode beside Ellhorn and exclaimed:

"Say, Nick, did Judge Harlin tell you that Wellesly and Frenchy Delarue's daughter are going to be married next fall?"

"The h.e.l.l they are! Say, he's in luck, a whole heap better than he deserves!" Then a light broke over Nick's face, as he shot a glance at the carriage behind them. He slapped his thigh and exclaimed: "Jerusalem! Tom, that's why Emerson is pullin' his freight!"

At the moment, Tom felt guilty, as if he had betrayed a confidence, and he merely said, "Maybe it is."

"I might have known Nick would see through it in a minute," he said to himself afterward. "Well, I reckon it's all right. He knows now, and he'd sure have heard that they are going to be married, anyway."

CHAPTER XVIII

The four men stayed at Muletown that night and drove across the hot, dry levels of the Fernandez plain in the early morning. In the foothills of the Hermosa mountains there was a little place called Agua Fria--Cold Water. It was a short distance off the main road, but travelers across the plain frequently went thither to refresh themselves and their beasts with the cool waters which it furnished.

It was only a small Mexican ranch, irrigated by a bountiful flow of water from a never failing spring. Cottonwood trees surrounded the house, and around the spring grew a little peach orchard. The ruins of a mining camp, long since deserted, could be seen on the hill above.

Emerson Mead and his companions turned aside into the road leading to the Agua Fria ranch and drew rein in the shade of the peach trees. A woman was washing clothes beside the spring and a man came from a near-by field where he was at work. They chatted with the couple while the horses were allowed to rest in the shade. Presently Tuttle and Ellhorn remounted and started slowly back, leaving Mead and Harlin in the buggy, ready to go, but exchanging some last words with the Mexican. The road curved below the house, through the trees, and as Tuttle and Ellhorn came out on the other side they saw a party of hors.e.m.e.n approaching from the main road. At once they recognized John Daniels and Jim Halliday, who were riding in the front. Behind them came half a dozen others, and in the rear of the company they saw Colonel Whittaker with some pack horses. Tom and Nick drew back into the cover of the trees and conferred a moment over the probable intentions of the party.

"They are all armed," said Tom. "Six-shooters and Winchesters on every one."

"I'll bet they're after Emerson, Tommy," Nick exclaimed. "They want trouble, and I reckon we'd better begin to give it to 'em right now."

They drew their rifles from beside their saddles, for the men were still too far away for the use of revolvers. Then Tom looked at Nick doubtfully.

"Nick, what do you-all think would be Emerson's judgment? You know he always wants the other side to begin the fight."

"My judgment is that the sooner this fight is begun the better. Them fellows are out here lookin' for trouble, and I say, if a man wants trouble, Lord! let him have it!"

He raised his rifle to his shoulder and sent a bullet singing down the road, saying to Tom as he fired: "This is just to let 'em know we're here."

The bullet creased the neck of Halliday's horse, which reared and plunged with sudden fright. The whole party checked their horses in surprise and looked intently toward the clump of cottonwoods from which the shot had come. Tom raised his gun to his shoulder, saying, "You've started the fun, Nick, so here goes," and he sent a rifle ball whizzing past Daniels' ear. Harlin and Mead dashed around the house in the buggy, jumped out, and tied their horses in the rear of the trees.

Tuttle and Ellhorn dismounted and dropped their bridles.

The approaching party paused for a moment in a close group and held an excited conference. Then they separated and, drawing their guns from the saddle scabbards, sent a volley into the grove. Four rifle bullets made quick answer and set their horses to rearing. It was some time before the beasts could be made quiet enough for the shots to be returned, and in the meantime bullets were pattering all about them.

Colonel Whittaker stopped far in the rear with the pack horses, beyond the reach of the rifle b.a.l.l.s, and the others made a sudden dash forward. Checking their horses, they fired a concerted volley into the trees. One of the bullets scorched the band of Tom's hat.

"Nick," said Tom, "that was Daniels fired that shot. He's gettin' too impudent. You take care of him while I clean my gun. Don't you let him get any closer, but don't hurt him, for he's my meat."

He went down on the ground cross-legged and swabbed his gun-barrel while the bullets pattered on the ground about him and thudded into the trees and ploughed up the dirt at his feet. Nick bent his rifle on the sheriff and sent a bullet through his hat brim and another through his horse's ear, and bit his bridle with one and tore his trouser leg with another. One dropped and stung on the beast's fetlock as Tom sprang to his feet exclaiming, "Now I'll get him!"