He lifted his revolver and took careful aim at the barely perceptible form of the horse. Then, when the other fired again, Larkin returned the shot, and almost immediately noticed that he was creeping up. At fifty yards the fleeing man blazed away again, and this time Bud heard the whistle of the bullet. Without further delay he took a pot-shot at the rustler's gun arm and, by one of those accidents that the law of chance permits to happen perhaps once in a lifetime, got him. After that the rustler pulled up his failing animal to a walk and faced him around. "Hands up!" yelled Larkin, covering the other. The answer was a streak of yellow flame from the fellow's left hand that had been resting on his hip. The bullet flew wide as though the man had never shot left-handed before, and Bud, furious at the deception, dashed to close quarters recklessly, not daring to shoot again for fear of killing his man. This move broke the rustler's courage, and his left hand shot skyward. His right arm being broken, he could not raise it. Larkin rode alongside of him and peered into his face. It was Smithy Caldwell. Quickly Bud searched him for other weapons. "What're yuh goin' to do with me, Larkin?" whined the blackmailer. "Don't take me back there. I haven't done nothin'." "Shut up and don't be yellow," admonished Bud. "If you're not guilty of anything you can prove it quick enough, I guess." "I saved your life once," pleaded the other. "Let me go." "You saved it so you could get more money out of me. Think I don't know you, Caldwell?" "Let me go and I'll give you back all that money and all the rest you've ever given me. For God's sake don't let 'em hang me!" The cowardice of the man was pitiful, but Bud was unmoved. For years his life had been dogged by this man. Now, an openly avowed rustler, he expected clemency from his victim. "Ride ahead there," ordered Bud. Caldwell, whimpering, took his position. "Put your hands behind you." The other made as though to comply with this command, when suddenly with a swift motion he put something in his mouth. Instantly Bud had him by the throat, forcing his mouth open. Caldwell, forced by this grip, spat out something that Bud caught with his free hand. It was a piece of paper. Larkin slipped it into the pocket of his shirt and released his clutch. Then he bound Smithy's hands and started back toward the scene of the raid. When he arrived, with his prisoner riding ahead on the limping horse, he found that all was over. Two of the rustlers were dead, but the rest were sitting silent on the ground by the side of the cook-wagon. One sheepman had been killed, and another's broken shoulder was being roughly dressed by Sims.