"Bill Santry never shot any man in the back," Wade declared, in a relieved tone. "If you're sure of the facts, Santry will come clear all right." "It's just a devilish scheme of Moran's, that's all, to put it on you and Santry. I'm sure it is. He hates you both. Whoa, Gypsy!" She reined the little mare in again. "No, it's all right, Gordon. I can manage her," she remonstrated, as he reached for the bridle once more. "So that's their game, eh? By Heaven, I more than half believe you're right." His face grew ugly with rage. "Dorothy," he continued grimly, "thanks are useless. You're a brick, that's all. Do one thing more for us, will you?" "Anything," she replied simply, her eyes shining with devotion to him, but he was too overwrought to read them in the darkness. "When you get back to town get word to some of the men for me. You may meet them on the way out, if not they'll be around the barn. Tell them to meet me at the big pine, on the old trail." His horse had grown restless and now he allowed it to have its head; he was moving past her when she clutched his arm. "Gordon!" She loved him dearly, too dearly to let him know how well until he should speak, if he ever did speak; but above them was the starlit sky and over them hovered the wondrous spirit of the Western night. Her pulse was beating, too, to the call of danger, and despite the control which she had over her nerves, she was just a bit hysterical beneath the surface. She knew that ahead of him was a little army of hostile men, and already that day two men had been killed. So, tremulously, she held on to his sleeve, until she stopped him. "What are you going to do? You can't do anything alone against so many. They may kill you." Her sympathy was very sweet to him and he warmly squeezed the little hand which had held him back. "Don't you be afraid, little girl," he said tenderly. "I shall not get hurt if I can help it." "Wait until the others come, won't you?" "Surely," he answered readily, touched by the anxiety in her voice. "I'm going to look around--just as you did--on the quiet. You wouldn't hold me back, where you went in, now would you?" "No--!" She smiled a little into his face. "That's the stuff! Then I'm coming back to the big pine, and you'll send the boys there. They'll not put Santry in jail if we can prevent them. They've played their last card to-night. It's war from now on." "All right, Gordon, I'll go." Her voice was full of courage again; the moment of weakness had passed. "Remember now, take good care of yourself." "You bet," he retorted cheerily, and as her mare moved ahead, he caught her arm as she had caught his. She went quite limp in her saddle and swayed toward him, but he merely added: "You're a wonder, Dorothy."