She ceased suddenly, lowered the glasses, and looked seriously into her companion’s eyes, her own wet with glad tears.
“It’s all over,” she said in a tired little voice. “They’ve surrendered, and the kid turned a double flip-flap in the air and landed sitting up. Oh, Tom! It’s all over! We’re going home!”
She half closed her eyes. Hunger and excitement had worn her out. Her knees crumpled under her. With a bound he caught her as she began to sink, and with a long sigh she dropped her head on his shoulder and became a dead weight in his arms.
“Toddlebike” Todd, gentleman of the saddle, had been the one to find the tumbleweed caught on a greasewood bush, with a piece of yellow paper wound about an inside branch and tied there with a strip of white cloth. Of an investigating nature, Toddlebike had swung his cow horse close to the greasewood, leaned his fat body from the saddle, and picked up the weed. A moment and he was firing his six-shooter in air and waving his Stetson frantically.
Soon an eager company was gathered around him, and Squawtooth Canby was reading the messages aloud.
His blue eyes filled as he finished, and his voice was husky as he spoke.
“She’s all over, boys,” he said. “It’s pretty near noon now. We’ll cut dust to the house and send the signal. Don’t need to write or phone this Winston. Anything goes now. I want my girl.”
They galloped swiftly toward Squawtooth, Mart at his father’s side, begging to see the note. At last Squawtooth handed it to him. Mart said nothing more until they had reached the ranch, then he remarked:
“Pa, they’s a secret message on that fer me.”