Keller called out a genial warning. "I wouldn't do that. There's too many of you bunched close together, and this old gun spatters like hail. You see, it's loaded with buckshot." One of the cowboys laughed. He was rather a cool hand himself, but such audacity as this was new to him. "What's ailing you, Pesky? It don't strike me as being so damned amusing," growled his leader. "Different here, Buck. I was just grinning because he's such a cheerful guy. Of course, I ain't got one of his pills in my arm, like you have." "He won't be so gay about it when he's down, with a couple of bullets through him," predicted the other grimly. "But we'll take his advice, just the same. You boys scatter. Cross the creek and sneak up along the other wall, Ned. Curly, you and Irwin climb up this side until you get him in sight. Pesky and I will stay here." "Hold on a minute! Let's get at the rights of this. What's all the row about?" the cornered man wanted to know. "You know dashed well what it's about, you blanked bushwhacker. But you didn't shoot straight enough, and you didn't fix it so you could make your getaway. I'm going to hang you high as Haman." "Thank you. But your intentions aren't directed to the right man. I'm a stranger in this country. Whyfor should I want to shoot you?" "A stranger. Where from?" demanded Buck Weaver crisply. "Douglas." "What doing here?" "Homesteading." "Name?" "Keller." "Killer, you mean, I reckon. You're a hired assassin, brought in to shoot me. That's what you are." "No." "Yes. The man we want came into this gulch, not three minutes ahead of us. If you're not the man, where is he?" "I haven't got him in my vest pocket." "I reckon you've got him right there in your coat and pants." "I ain't so dead sure, Buck," spoke up Pesky. "We didn't see the man so as to know him." "Riding a roan, wasn't he?" snapped the owner of the Twin Star outfit. "Looked that way," admitted the cowpuncher. "Well, then?" "Keller! Why, that's the name given by the rustler who broke away from us two weeks ago," Curly spoke out. "No use jawing. I'm going to hang his skin up to dry," Weaver ground out between set teeth. "By his own way of it, he's only one of them dashed nesters," Irwin added. Keller was putting two and two together, in amazement. The would-be assassin had, during the past few minutes, been driven into this gulch, riding a roan horse. He could swear that only one person had come in before these pursuers--and that one was a woman on a roan. Her frightened eyes, the fear that showed in every motion, her hurried flight, all contributed to the same inevitable conclusion. It was difficult to believe it, but impossible to deny. This wild, sylvan creature, with the shy, wonderful eyes, had lain in ambush to kill her father's enemy, and was flying from the vengeance on her heels.