His lips were sealed. Even if he were not under heavy obligations to her he could no more save himself at the expense of this brown sylph than he could have testified against his own mother. "All right. If you feel lucky, come on. You'll get me, of course, but it may prove right expensive," he said quietly. "That's all right. We're footing our end of the bill," Pesky retorted. By this time, he and Weaver had dismounted, and were sheltered behind rocks. Already bullets were beginning to spit back and forth, though the flankers had not yet got into action. "Durn his hide, I hate like sin to puncture it," Pesky told his boss. "I tell you we're making a mistake, Buck. This fellow's a pure--he ain't any hired killer. You can tie to that." "He's the man that pumped a bullet into my arm from ambush. That's enough for me," the cattleman swore. "No use being revengeful, especially if it happens he ain't the man. By his say-so, that's a shotgun he's carrying. Loaded with buckshot, he claims. What hit you was a bullet from a Winchester, or some such gun. Mighty easy to prove whether he's lying." "We'll be able to prove it afterward, all right." "What's the matter with proving it now? I don't stand for any murder business myself. I'm going to find out what's what." The cow-puncher tied the red bandanna from his neck round the end of his revolver, and shoved it above the rock in front of him. "Flag of truce!" he shouted. "All right. Come right along. Better leave your gun behind," Keller called back. Pesky waddled forward--a short, thick-set, bow-legged man in chaps, spurs, flannel shirt, and white sombrero. When he took off this last, as he did now, it revealed a head bald as a billiard ball. "How're they coming?" he inquired genially of the besieged man, as he rounded the rock barricade. Larrabie's steel eyes relaxed to a hint of a friendly smile. He knew this type of man like a brother. "Fine and dandy here. Hope you're well yourself, seh." "Tol'able. Buck's up on his ear, o' course. Can't blame him, can you? Most any man would, with that kind of a pill sent to his address so sudden by special delivery. Wasn't that some inconsiderate of you, Mr. Keller?" "I thought I explained it was another party did that." Pesky rolled a cigarette and lit it. "Right sure of that, are you? Wouldn't mind my taking a look at that gun of yours? You see, if it happens to be what you said it was, that kinder lets you out." Keller handed over the gun promptly. The cow-puncher broke it, extracted a shell, and with his knife picked out the wad. Into his palm rolled a dozen buckshot. "Good enough! I told Buck he was barking up the wrong tree. Now, I'll go back and have a powwow with him. I reckon you'll be willing to surrender on guarantee of a square deal?" "Sure--that's all I ask. I never met your friend--didn't know who he was from Adam. I ain't got any option to shoot all the red-haided men I meet. No, sir! You've followed a cross trail."