“I guess I can answer for your third gunman, Scotty,” the Marshal said tersely. “Come, let’s see what the men have found.”
Rapidly making their way to where the men were flashing their lights, they came upon the form of a man stretched on the ground. It was the halfbreed’s pal, and he was dying. He was still breathing, but with great difficulty. Trent Burton’s guns had cut short his villainous career, and forty feet from him lay the halfbreed. Bud made a hasty examination of the latter’s wound, and to his surprise he discovered that the bullet had not reached a vital spot.
The halfbreed had been hit in the right side just above the hip and was unconscious from loss of blood.
Just above him through a small aperture in the roof the stars were faintly shining.
A thorough search proved this to be the outlet for the secret passage, and it was evident the halfbreed was about to make his escape when a bullet from Scotty’s gun had laid him low.
Under Bud’s order the two men were carried out of the secret passage and taken to the ranch, where they were placed under the doctor’s care. The man of medicine quickly pronounced the one that had fallen under Trent Burton’s guns to be past all earthly aid, and set vigorously to work to revive the halfbreed.
An hour later, his wounds properly dressed, the halfbreed was placed under guard.
He sat glaring sullenly at his captors, and his eyes gleamed savagely whenever they rested on Mason or Scotty. It was Scotty’s gun that had laid him low and gotten him into his present trouble while he was attempting to escape. He cherished a bitter hatred for Mason since the time the latter had tumbled him out of his saddle with a well placed shot when the rescue of Josephine was accomplished.
The bullet wound had nearly cost him his life and caused him to take to the mountains in hiding, save for an occasional visit to the Ricker ranch, which was made possible by his almost superhuman knowledge of the mountains and the existence of the secret passage. The halfbreed’s shifty eyes finally turned in the direction of the chief of counterfeiters, who sat staring moodily into space.
A slight cough from the halfbreed succeeded in attracting his chief’s attention and a series of signals passed between them by means of an almost inaudible sound made by a light tapping of their bootheels.