Unwilling to use their thoroughbreds in the condition in which they were after the harsh treatment to which they had been subjected, the three desperadoes asked for other horses and the very men who had been most eager to hang them were the most importunate in urging them to accept some of theirs. "You won't accuse us of stealing 'em if we ride 'em, will you?" grinned Frank. The thrust took with the crowd, putting them in rare good humour and, laughing and chatting, they rode forth to hunt the thieves. By tacit agreement, the leadership of the posse was yielded to the world-famous desperado. "Which way do we take to get to Consollas' farms?" he asked as they gained the highway. "To the right," came the answer while others protested that it would be only a waste of time to go there. But Jesse insisted that he wished to question the farm hands to get a description of the thieves and to learn the time when the mare had been missed and where she was when last seen and the others withdrew their objections. Setting a smart pace, the bandit-chieftain, his pals on each side, and the posse were "burning up" the road when they beheld a cloud of dust ahead of them from which, as it drew nearer, emerged a horseman. "Halt! We'll see who is it who's in such a hurry," commanded the great outlaw. Drawing rein, the posse spread out across the highway, eagerly watching the approaching rider. Suddenly one of the men in front ejaculated: "Why, it's Fred Consollas!" Apparently at the same time, the son of the storekeeper had recognized the form of his hated rival for he pulled his pony to its haunches, then whirled it and started back over the way he had come. The action mystified the members of the posse and they shouted to the fellow to stop. But the only effect of their words was to make Fred ride the faster. "There's some crooked business about this," snapped Clell. Impressed with the idea, Jesse rose in his stirrups and fired a bullet over the youth's head, shouting: "If you don't stop, the next one will knock you out of your saddle." A craven at heart, Fred Consollas thought more of saving his skin than of the danger of the discovery of the plot and quickly reined in. "What are you doing here?" demanded the leader of the bandits as he and his posse overtook the fear-trembling lad. His voice was stern and he bit off his words ominously. Vainly searching the faces surrounding him, Fred stammered: "I was l-looking for the mare." "The roan your father said was stolen?" pursued the bandit-chieftain. "U-huh." "Then why were you going back to the Springs?" "To see father." "Did you learn anything about the thieves?" "No." "What's the use of wasting time over the boy?" snapped Frank. "He doesn't look as though he knew enough to tell whether the mare was stolen or not. Let him go on his way." "Not much," returned Jesse, noting the look of relief that had appeared in Fred's eyes at his brother's words. "We'll take him with us.