“I am a prisoner here at the ranch. Aaron Gallup came today. Father insists that I marry him. The man is coming back tomorrow with a minister. “Madeiras is here, too, the traitor! If Charlie Paul finds you I know you will come. “Molly.” “Good boy, you, Charlie Paul,” Johnny said warmly, laying a hand upon the Indian’s arm. “You savvy what’s up?” “Pretty well me savvy.” “Plenty fight comin’,” Johnny told him. “Shots, kill maybe—all right, you?” “All right, me,” Charlie said simply. “You got rifle?” the boy asked anxiously. “Me got um. On North Fork.” “Hide out, eh? Buried?” “_Hé_,” Charlie laughed mockingly. “I find um.” Indeed, Charlie Paul was no fool. White men were not taking away his gun. He had it where he could reach it when needed. “We go now?” the Indian asked. “No, Charlie. Horse too tired. Picket the ponies. We eat and sleep. Moonup we go. Save horses, keep him fresh. Breakfast time we come by ranch. Ride like hell then. You savvy?” “Me savvy.” For the time being Johnny gave up any thought of old Thunder Bird or Crosbie Traynor. He cursed aloud whenever he thought of Molly married to Gallup. Well, it would never come to pass. Not if he had to kill the man. After sundown they rode to the trader’s store and bought supplies enough to last them a week. Before twilight was over they were out of Elk Valley and heading for the North Fork. Sunup found them hovering close to the ranch. Rose Creek, a branch of the North Fork, flowed past the house. As usual with desert creeks, its course was marked by a screening of willows and buckthorn. In this cover Johnny left Charlie Paul with their ponies and a led one which the Indian had obtained from the old chief. “A minute or two after the breakfast bells rings,” the boy told the Indian, “I’m goin’ to crawl up to the house. You stay here. You keep me in range. Some man may stop me. If I raise my hand—like this—you shoot. Right?” “_Bueno_,” Charlie answered. “Like that”—he imitated Johnny’s signal—“and I shoot.” In a few minutes the Chinese cook rang his gong and the men began trooping from the bunkhouse for their morning meal. Johnny waited no longer. On his hands and knees he began crawling through the sagebrush. Fifteen minutes later he had reached the front porch, the floor of which was a good foot above the ground. Noiselessly he crept beneath it. From this shelter he stuck out a long willow gad and began tapping on the window of Molly’s room. The girl had been awake most of the night, and it did not take long for this repeated tapping to draw her attention. “Johnny!” she gasped as she caught sight of the boy’s face protruding from the space below the porch. “Get dressed quickly!” he ordered. “Don’t take over ten minutes.” And, turtle-like, Johnny drew in his head and left Molly to jump into her clothes. She whistled to him softly when she was ready.