He got to his knees to don the sticky, clinging coat, and as he held it extended loosely in his hands to discover the armholes, a fierce gust of wind whipped it from his grasp and it flew high over their heads with a loud flapping, straight towards Moffatt's hiding-place. A shout, a shot and maniacal laughter came to them faintly against the tempest. Peeping over their barrier, in a succession of flashes that lighted up the wastes for miles, they made out Moffatt standing on top of his mound with his hands raised to the sky. His hat was gone and his rifle he had thrown away. For a full minute he was blotted from their sight. Then, in another illumination, they say him running towards them, laughing wildly. "It's the angel of the Lord!" he shrilled to the contending skies. "It's the angel of the Lord. I seen him." The renegade ran a dozen steps more, whirled dizzily and toppled to the earth. Shaking off his son's imploring hands, Johnson sprang into the dark. Three minutes later he was back, dragging Moffatt by the arms and shoulders. "The lightning done hit him, I reckon," he panted. "Singed down both sides, he is. I reckon he got hit twice. He ain't dead--not him." Moffatt regained consciousness in a few minutes, but the horror of it was still upon him, and his imagination peopled the night with avenging spirits. He cowered down between the two and endeavored to interpose the boy's body between him and the elements. "You won't let the ol' man kill me, will you, son?" he whimpered. "Shut up," said Lafe, Jr., coldly. "You keep quiet, Steve," said Johnson irritably. "It's bad enough without having you blubber like that. We've got to stay here till daylight." "All right. I'll be quiet, Lafe. But you-all won't kill me, now? Promise? Where's my gun?" "I've got it," said Lafe, Jr. "'I do believe this ol' storm is blowing itself out." At daylight they sought their horses, Moffatt carrying his saddle over his shoulder and staggering weakly beside the boy. He was too frightened to remain near Lafe, and implored his son whiningly at every step to intercede for him with his father and the Anvil men. If he only would, he would treat him fair and teach him how to shoot. Their mounts had drifted with the gale and were nowhere in sight, and there was nothing for them to do but toil the weary miles on foot. They arrived at the Bar W bunkhouse at nightfall, spent with hunger and want of sleep. They slept twelve hours, with Moffatt locked in the cook's own bedroom. CHAPTER XLV THE END It was five days later that Mrs. Horne, emerging from the door on hearing a horse neigh, espied a pair of riders coming up the lane. Her mouth opened in amazement and she sped into the house, crying excitedly for Manuel. Lafe, Jr., pulled up at the yard gate and said; "No, you don't, Moffatt. You get down first and go in front." "Sure, I'm ready, Lafe. Better not get too reckless with that li'l gun, boy. She's liable for to go off."