against the one.

There was nobody to whom she could talk about it, for Phil and her
father were away at Noches. Restless as a caged panther, she twice had
her horse brought to the door, and rode into the hills to meet her
posse. But she could not be sure which way they would come, and after
venturing a short distance she would return for fear they might arrive
in her absence. Night had fallen over the country, and the stars were
out long before she got back the second time. Nine--ten--eleven o'clock
struck, and still no sign of those for whom she waited.

At last they came, their prisoner riding in the midst, bareheaded and
with his hands tied.

"I've got him, Phyl!" Healy cried in a voice that told the girl he was
riding on a wave of triumph.

"I see you have."

Nevertheless she looked not at the victor, but at the vanquished, and
never had she seen a man who looked more master of his fate than this
one. He was smiling down at her whimsically, and she saw they had not
taken him without a struggle. The marks of it were on them and on him.
Healy's cheek bone was laid open in a nasty cut, and Slim had a
handkerchief tied round his head.

As for Keller, his shirt was in ribbons and dyed with the stains of
blood from the wound that had broken out again in the battle. The hair
on the left side of his head was clotted with dried blood, and his
cheeks were covered with it. Both eyes were blacked, and hands and face