Rutherford plunged awkwardly into his thanks. His sister had made only a partial confidant of him, but he knew that she was under obligations to Beaudry for the rescue from Meldrum. The girl had not dared tell her brother that the outlaw was still within his reach. She knew how impulsively his anger would move to swift action. "We Rutherfords ain't liable to forget this, Mr. Beaudry. Dad has been 'most crazy since Boots disappeared. He'll sure want to thank you himself soon as he gets a chance," blurted Ned. "I happened to be the lucky one to find her; that's all," Roy depreciated. "Sure. I understand. But you did find her. That's the point. Dad won't rest easy till he's seen you. I'm going to take sis right home with me. Can't you come along?" Roy wished he could, but it happened that he had other fish to fry. He shook his head reluctantly. Dingwell returned with a pair of high-heeled cowpuncher's boots. "Try these on, son. They belong to Dusty. The lazy hobo wasn't up yet. If they fit you, he'll ride back to the ranch in his socks." After stamping about in the boots to test them, Roy decided that they would do. "They fit like a coat of paint," he said. "Say, son, I'm going to hit the trail with you on that little jaunt you mentioned," his partner announced definitely. Roy was glad. He had of late been fed to repletion with adventure. He did not want any more, and with Dingwell along he was not likely to meet it. Already he had observed that adventures generally do not come to the adventurous, but to the ignorant and the incompetent. Dave moved with a smiling confidence along rough trails that would have worried his inexperienced partner. To the old-timer these difficulties were not dangers at all, because he knew how to meet them easily. They rode up Del Oro by the same route Roy and Beulah had followed the previous night. Before noon they were close to the prospect hole where Roy had left the rustler. The sound of voices brought them up in their tracks. They listened. A whine was in one voice; in the other was crisp command. "Looks like some one done beat us to it," drawled Dingwell. "We'll move on and see what's doing." They topped the brow of a hill. A bow-legged little man with his back to them was facing Dan Meldrum. "I'm going along with yez as far as the border. You'll keep moving lively till ye hit the hacienda of old Porf. Diaz. And you'll stay there. Mind that now, Dan. Don't--" The ex-convict broke in with the howl of a trapped wolf. "You've lied to me. You brought yore friends to kill me." The six-gun of the bad man blazed once--twice. In answer the revolver of the bandy-legged puncher barked out, fired from the hip. Meldrum staggered, stumbled, pitched forward into the pit. The man who had killed him walked slowly forward to the edge and looked down. He stood poised for another shot if one should prove necessary. Dave joined him.