cripple to the day of his death. Of those who escaped there was not
one that did not carry scars for months as a memento of the battle.

The sheriff was lying in the stall when Sharp found him. From out of
the feed-bin the owner of the corral brought his boy to the father
whose life was ebbing. The child was trembling like an aspen leaf.

"Picture," gasped Beaudry, his hand moving feebly toward the chain.

A bullet had struck the edge of the daguerreo-type case.

"She . . . tried . . . to save me . . . again," murmured the dying man
with a faint smile.

He looked at the face of his sweetheart. It smiled an eager invitation
to him. A strange radiance lit his eyes.

Then his head fell back. He had gone to join his Lady-Bird.




Chapter I

Dingwell Gives Three Cheers

Dave Dingwell had been in the saddle almost since daylight had wakened
him to the magic sunshine of a world washed cool and miraculously clean
by the soft breath of the hills. Steadily he had jogged across the
desert toward the range. Afternoon had brought him to the foothills,