Color rising in her cheeks, the girl sat up, then sprang to her feet, staring around. “Where is he?” “He done went away, ma’am,” said Sagebrush solemnly. “Yessir. That Mex done seen the error of his ways and got converted. I never seen a Mex get converted so sudden before, neither, nor with such good results.” “And we owe Sagebrush a vote of thanks for converting him,” added Ramsay, turning to the fire. “Breakfast ready in a minute, Miss Gilman. Have you any biscuits cooked up?” “Yere’s some store biscuits.” Sagebrush tossed out a package. “Say, Perfesser! I’m right worried about somethin’.” “About what?” asked Ramsay. “Why, d’you s’pose that cuss Sidewinder will steal them magazines o’ mine? I left ’em to the hotel in my pack. I got six months’ store o’ magazines there, and I’m readin’ a long story in one of ’em. I been thinking a lot about that there story in the last six months, and I’m gettin’ real anxious to finish it. If Sidewinder steals ’em—” “He wont,” said Ramsay, laughing to himself. “He wont. I’ll nab those two friends of his when they come back with the car this afternoon, and we’ll all drop in on Sidewinder tonight and surprise him.” Sagebrush was sitting up, and they joined him, all three feeling considerably benefited by the coffee and a bite of food. Miss Gilman asked no more questions about Ximines, and Ramsay outlined what had taken place in Hourglass Cañon. “How badly is our friend here hurt?” Ramsay asked of Miss Gilman after he had ended his story. “He’ll be on his feet in a few days. I took out the bullet—I’ve had a little experience nursing—and there’s nothing very much the matter with him. He lost a good deal of blood.” “Blood’s cheap.” Sagebrush grinned, as he leaned back comfortably. He seemed to have quite gotten over all his aversion to this particular woman. “Best thing for blood is good fat lizard-meat. I’ll get me a likely chuckwalla and lay him in the ashes, and feed up. Some says pack-rats make good meat, but I dunno. I’ve et rattlesnake, but my gosh! A feller has to draw the line somewhere, and I draws it at pack-rats. So you’re figgering on roundin’ up Sidewinder tonight, Perfesser?” “Yes,” responded Ramsay. “If I can get Tom Emery and Cholo Bill—” “Ye can’t do it noways,” said Sagebrush with savage emphasis. “Don’t be a durned fool and try it, Perfesser. Even if ye got them two fellers covered, would they give in again? Not much. They’d figger that one of ’em would go down, the other might plug ye—and they’d take the chance. Yessir. After all that’s happened, they’d go for ye, gun or no gun. Ye took ’em by s’prise the first time, but there wont be no second time. The only way to get ’em is to drop ’em cold and get ’em dead.” “I’m no murderer,” said Ramsay quietly. “And I’m going to get ’em, one way or the other; so stop your argument. Miss Gilman, why didn’t you put Sagebrush into your car and take him to town when he showed up here?”