Hank grinned guiltily and while he was not thoroughly convinced of the soundness of their flight, so far as his outward appearances showed, he grunted a little but pushed on and joined his partner. In a few minutes he grinned again. "I ain't never had th' chanct ter try fer six plumb-centers without takin' th' rifle from my shoulder," he remarked. "Jest wait till I take this hyar Colt up in th' Crow country!" He chuckled with anticipated pleasures and then glanced sidewise at his partner. "Say, Tom," he said, reminiscently; "who air th' three other best men yer gal was thinkin' of, back thar in that little clearin'?" "What you mean?" demanded Tom, whirling in his saddle, his face flushing under its tan. "An' she ain't my gal, neither." Hank chirped and twittered a bit. "Then who's is she?" "Don't know; but she won't like bein' called mine. Ye oughtn't call her that." "Not even atween us two?" "Not never, a-tall." "That so?" muttered Hank, a vague plan presenting itself to his mind, to be considered and used later. "Huh! I must be gittin' old an' worthless," he mourned. "I been readin' signs fer more'n thirty year, an' I ain't never read none that war airy plainer, arter them thievin' 'Rapahoes turned tail an' lit out. Anyhow, I reckon mebby yer safe if ye keep on _thinkin'_ that she's yer gal." He scratched his chin. "But who war th' other three?" "Why, I do remember her saying something like that," confessed Tom slowly, tingling as his memory hurled the whole scene before him. "Reckon she meant Uncle Joe an' her father." "That accounts fer two o' 'em," said Hank, nodding heavily; "but who in tarnation is th' third?" "Don't know," grunted Tom. "Huh! Bet he's that stuck-up, no-'count doctor feller. Yeah; that's who it is." He glanced slyly at his frowning friend. "Told ye I war gettin' old an' worthless. Gosh! an' she's goin' all th' rest o' th' way ter Santer Fe with him!" He slapped his horse and growled in mock anxiety. "We better git a-goin' an' not loaf like we air. Santer Fe's a long ways off!" Two miles further on they turned up a little branch of the stream and Hank, stopping his horse, threw up his hand. "Listen!" he cried. Four pairs of keen ears sifted the noises of the intermittent wind and three pairs of eyes turned to regard their companion. "What ye reckon ye heard?" curiously asked Zeb. "I'd take my oath I heard rifle shots--a little bust o' 'em," replied Hank. "Thar ain't no questionin' it; I _am_ gittin' old. Come along; we'll keep ter th' water fur's we kin, anyhow." * * * * *