"I don't think much of her judgment, though," he commented to himself, contemptuously. "Any girl that would take that scrub Wellesly when she might have Emerson Mead--well, she can't amount to much! Bah! Emerson's better off without her!" That evening, as the four men sat smoking under the cottonwoods, Mead said quietly: "Judge, I'm goin' to pull my freight." "What do you mean, Emerson?" "I mean that this country will be better off without me and I'll be better off without it. I'm goin' to light out." "Soon?" "As soon as I can give away this ranch to the Fillmore outfit, or anybody that will have it. Nick, you and Tom better take it. I'll give it to you for love and affection and one dollar, if you want to take the fight along with it." "Nothing would please me better," Nick replied, "than to clean up all your old scores against the Fillmore outfit, but I reckon if we take it we'll just run it for you until you-all come back." "All right. I'll turn it over to you to-morrow. You can have all you can make out of it and if I'm not back inside of five years you can divide it between you." "Everybody will say you are running away from the Whittaker case and that you are afraid to face a trial," said Judge Harlin. "They may say what they damn please," replied Mead. Something like a smothered sob sounded from Tuttle's chair, and he exclaimed fiercely, "They'd better not say that to me!" "There's no likelihood," said Judge Harlin, "that the grand jury will indict you, as things stand now, or that the case would amount to much if they should. If you want to stay and face the music, Emerson, I don't think you need to feel apprehensive about the result." "Oh, I'm not afraid of the trial, if there should be one. But I don't think there'll be any. I'm not going to submit to arrest, trial, or anything else, until they can prove that Will Whittaker's dead, and they can't do that. I told Wellesly that I would let them arrest me whenever they can prove that Will Whittaker died with his boots on, and I'll stick to my word. I'll come back from anywhere this side of hell for my trial whenever they can prove it, and you can tell 'em so, Judge. But I'm tired of this country and done with it, and I mean to pull my freight to-morrow." "If you want to start from Plumas you'd better ride over with me," said Harlin, "and you'd better go prepared for trouble, for the Republicans won't let you leave the country if they can help it." "All right. They can have all the trouble they want." "You bet they can! All they want, and a whole heap more than they'll want when it comes!" exclaimed Nick. "That's what's the matter! We'll see that they get it!" added Tom. The next morning they stowed the gold nuggets under the seat of Judge Harlin's buggy, in which rode Mead and Harlin, with rifles and revolvers. Tuttle and Ellhorn rode on horseback, each with a revolver in his holster and a rifle slung beside him.