THE END
It was five days later that Mrs. Horne, emerging from the door on hearing a horse neigh, espied a pair of riders coming up the lane. Her mouth opened in amazement and she sped into the house, crying excitedly for Manuel. Lafe, Jr., pulled up at the yard gate and said; "No, you don't, Moffatt. You get down first and go in front."
"Sure, I'm ready, Lafe. Better not get too reckless with that li'l gun, boy. She's liable for to go off."
They passed into the house and entered Horne's bedroom, after Lafe, Jr., had whispered to the perturbed Manuel. Mrs. Horne was standing guard beside the bed, her face white and accusing, as Moffatt was thrust forward by young Johnson. The renegade would not look at the sick man, but mumbled, and fidgeted from one foot to the other. Horne surveyed him dully for a moment; then his eyes brightened and he turned his face towards Lafe, Jr., with a smile.
"Dad and I got him over in New Mexico," said Lafe, Jr., in answer to the look. "We caught up with him in the Malpais. Dad, he had to stay home this morning because mother's poorly, so he sent me with him."
The boy did not state that Lafe had purposely permitted him to come alone, for his greater triumph and the hardening of his nerve. In fact, Lafe, Jr., did not know it.
"Is he—what's wrong with him, Lafe?"
"Lightning. He got burned awful bad. He's awful scared, too, Mr. Horne. Here, you, stand up straight!"
"Moffatt," said the cowman weakly, "I ought to give you up to be hanged. You aren't worth shooting. But I reckon you're worse off alive than dead. Turn him loose, Lafe boy. I always knew his nerve wasn't real. He won't bother us any more."
"I can go then, Mr. Horne, sir?" the prisoner quavered.
"You heard what he said, didn't you?" said Lafe, Jr. "Out you go! No, you can't have that horse. You can walk. And say—get a move on you. I'm going to begin shooting when I've counted fifty."
"Say, Lafe, you'll give me a fair count, won't you, boy? Don't be mean and cut in on it, Lafe. Yes, yes, I'm a-going."
"One, two, three, four—"