A wistful look sprang to the lean man’s eyes; he shot a quick glance at Somers, then gazed dreamily up the pass. “Is she at Fielding’s, too, Bob?” he asked softly. “No. I wanted her to come, but she feared the little fellows couldn’t stand the long trip.” The crippled mustang below them whinnied expectantly. Haines turned his face eastward. Among the foothills rose a cloud of dust that lengthened westward despite the eastward breeze. Haines rose to his feet and took Somers’ hand. “Good-by, Bob,” he said. “You’re not going!” exclaimed Somers. “Why, we’ve only just begun to talk; and I want you to come----” “I’m not going,” Haines interrupted, with an odd smile. “Not for an hour or so yet. But you are--unless you want to reverse the old order of things and fight my battle.” He dropped to one knee behind the rocks, picked up the Winchester, and passed a hand over the belt of murderous cartridges. The thud of pounding hoofs arose faintly from the hills below. A horrible suspicion numbed Somers’ brain. “Tubby!” he gasped. “Dear old Jack! you aren’t----” The lean man looked up into the pallid face, nodded, and smiled grimly. “Bob,” he said slowly, “when you see Anne again, I want you to tell her that I remembered her--to the last. Will you?” “Jack,” Somers cried, “they’re more than a mile away yet; there’s time for you to escape.” “Not on that crippled mustang. They got fresh mounts at Zell’s station. No ordinary horse could save me now, else I’d have asked you for yours long ago.” He balanced the Winchester in his hands, and turned his rigid face away toward the mouth of the pass. “They’d overtake me west of the pass, in the open,” he continued. “I prefer to finish the business here. I’ll get more of them--before they get me--than in a running fight.” “But if you had Fielding’s roan----” Sonora Jack looked up impatiently. “Yes--if I had--but I haven’t. Get out now, Bob; you mustn’t be caught with me.” “Jack,” Somers almost screamed, “the roan isn’t a hundred yards away--up that ravine--saddled and bridled, and fresh as a rose!” He had seized Haines by the collar, and was tugging to help him to his feet. “Hurry, for Heaven’s sake!” he cried, as Haines raced madly toward the ravine, and the echoes of galloping hoofs rang sharply up the pass. Slowly he staggered downward to the trail as Fielding, grim, grimy and perspiring, dashed up at the head of a dozen cowboys. “Glad to see you again, old boy,” shouted Fielding, as he sprang from the saddle. “You’re in time; we’ve got him treed. Which way did he go?” “Who?” asked Somers drowsily, rubbing his eyes. “Who? Why, th’ fellow that rode that mustang! Didn’t you see----” He stopped short, stared, wide-eyed, up the pass, and ripped out an oath. On a distant ledge, where the trail wound around the face of a cliff, a tall man on a galloping roan was jauntily waving a sombrero toward them. “Sonora Jack--and my roan!” roared Fielding.