Ken Mader’s horse fell, but Ken flung himself free and began shooting from the ground. For several moments it was a nightmare of rearing, kicking horses and sporadic flashing of rifle and revolver shots. Mader went down on his face. Rowdy’s horse was shot from under him, but he managed to regain his feet and mount behind Dick Leesom and spur the frightened horse into a gallop back up the road. Dick had been shot through the side and was unable to control his horse or to shoot a gun. A flurry of rifle shots followed them, but the bullets buzzed far over their heads. Not one of the bushwhackers came in sight. As far as they were concerned they never existed. Buck Priest had dropped flat on his back to escape the hail of lead. His leg was pinned beneath his dead horse, and it was impossible for him to extricate it. He could see the white face of Ken Mader in the moonlight, and he cursed Park Reber and his men. He tried to draw his leg loose from beneath the horse, but the pain forced him to desist. He was sure the leg was broken. He swore bitterly, feeling sure that they had run into the rustler’s ambush. Back in the hills, only a mile away from the road, were Park Reber and his men. They had heard the shooting, but the echoes were so confusing that none of them could tell where the shooting was taking place. “Sounded like a battle all right,” declared Reber. “We’d better head for the road, I think. Unless I’m mistaken, that’s where the shooting came from.” They traveled due east, striking the road a few hundred yards north of where the ambush had been laid. They did not see Leesom and Dow, who had gone past the spot, and were heading north. But they did find Dow’s hat in the road. It was a black Stetson, fairly new, but not marked with name or initial. “Somebody goin’ plenty fast,” said one of the men. “That’s hat’s too good for a puncher to throw it away.” “No way to tell which way he was goin’,” drawled a cowboy. “We’ll go south and take a chance,” said Reber. And then they found Buck Priest, pinned down by his dead horse, and Ken Mader lying dead beside his dead horse. The men dismounted. Buck Priest recognized them and spat a curse at Park Reber. “Got yuh, eh?” grunted Reber. “Mader’s dead,” said one of the men. Reber gave them orders to lift the horse off Priest’s leg. “Well, you’ve got me, Reber,” said Priest. “My leg’s busted. I hope yo’re satisfied, you dirty cow thief!” “I will be satisfied, yuh can bet on that,” said Reber. “Yo’re all through in this valley, Buck Priest--you and yore S Bar P outfit. When I get my hands on Jack Silver I’ve made a clean sweep.” “When yuh do,” gritted Priest. “Oh, I will,” rasped Reber. “I’ve started out to clean up this valley.” “Clean! It’ll never be clean as long as _you_ live. You killed O’Steen today--yore men did. He saw yuh stealin’ my cows. And yuh--oh what’s the use? You’ve got the best hand, Reber. Go ahead and do what yuh want to.” “I never killed O’Steen,” denied Reber.