Keller lowered himself from Flat Rock, keeping his prisoner covered as carefully as he could the while. But, though Keller came down the steep bluff with infinite pains, the rough going offered a chance of escape to one so reckless as Weaver, of which he made not the least attempt to avail himself. Instead, he smiled cynically and waited with his hand in the air, as bidden. Keller, coming forward with both eyes on his prisoner, slipped on a loose boulder that rolled beneath his foot, stumbled, and fell, almost at the feet of the cattleman. He got up as swiftly as a cat. Weaver and his derisive grin were in exactly the same position. Keller lowered his carbine instantly. This plainly was no case for the coercion of arms. "We'll cut out the gun play," he said. "Better rest the hand that's reaching for the sky. I expect hostilities are over." "You certainly had me scared stiff," Weaver mocked. From the first roll of the pebble that had announced the presence of a third party, Phyl had experienced surprise after surprise. She had expected to see one of the Seven Mile boys or her brother instead of Keller--had looked with a quaking heart for the cattleman to fling back the swift challenge of a bullet. His tame surrender had amazed her, especially when Keller's fall had given him a chance to seize the carbine. His drawling, sarcastic badinage pointed to the same conclusion. Evidently he had no desire to resist. Behind this must be some purpose which she could not fathom. "Elected yourself chaperon of the young lady, have you, Mr. Keller?" Buck asked pleasantly. The young man smiled at the girl before he answered. "You've been losing too much time on the job, Mr. Weaver. Subject to her approval, I got a notion I'd take her back home." "Best place for her," assented Weaver promptly. "I've been thinking for a day or two that she ought to get back to those school kids of hers. But I'm going to take her there myself." "Yourself!" Phyllis spoke up in quick surprise. "Why not?" The cattleman smiled. "Do you mean with your band of thugs?" "No, ma'am. You and I will be enough." The suggestion was of a piece with his usual audacity. The girl knew that he would be quite capable of riding with her into the hills, where he had a score of bitter, passionate enemies, and of affronting them, if the notion should come into his head, even in their stronghold. Within twenty-four hours he had shot one of them; yet he would go among them with his jaunty, mocking smile and that hateful confidence of his. "You would not be safe. They might kill you." "Would that gratify you?" "Yes!" she cried passionately. He bowed. "Anything to give pleasure to a lady." "No--you can't go! I won't go with you. I wouldn't be responsible for what might happen." "What might happen--another family impulse?" "You know as well as I do--after what you've done. And there's bad blood between you already. Besides, you are so reckless, so intemperate in what you say and do."