Absolute certainty, beyond any shadow of doubt, breathed in the
rider's low voice.

"Who are you? We are seven here."

The rider dropped his sombrero and made a rapid movement,
singular in that it left him somewhat crouched, arms bent and
stiff, with the big black gun-sheaths swung round to the fore.

"LASSITER!"

It was Venters's wondering, thrilling cry that bridged the
fateful connection between the rider's singular position and the
dreaded name.

Tull put out a groping hand. The life of his eyes dulled to the
gloom with which men of his fear saw the approach of death. But
death, while it hovered over him, did not descend, for the rider
waited for the twitching fingers, the downward flash of hand that
did not come. Tull, gathering himself together, turned to the
horses, attended by his pale comrades.



CHAPTER II. COTTONWOODS

Venters appeared too deeply moved to speak the gratitude his face
expressed. And Jane turned upon the rescuer and gripped his
hands. Her smiles and tears seemingly dazed him. Presently as
something like calmness returned, she went to Lassiter's weary