“Las Animas an’ Bar-G men, close in there! Ride ’em down!”
The two cow-puncher outfits swung into line and set spurs to their horses. Into the mob they drove, head on, hurling it back, trampling its members under hoof. Like some irresistible tide, they swept on recklessly, fatally; and the rioters began to give way, to retreat, slowly at first, then with increasing haste, before the savage advance. Presently they broke and fled for the security of the sidewalks, pouring into saloon and dance hall and gambling den, availing themselves of every means of escape. The street cleared as if by magic. In the dust lay the dead, Big George Rankin and Harrison among them. Through the camp sped bodies of horsemen bearing the sinister message:
“Lights out! Keep inside or be shot on sight!”
Warburton, bleeding from a nasty scalp wound, reached the hotel finally. He was in a fiery mood. He rushed Quintell upstairs to a room, handcuffed him, and put a guard over him. Then he came down again, wiping the blood from the side of his face, and walked over to where Billy Gee and Dot were standing.
“You know what we agreed, Billy? I got to git patched up an’ I’ll be busy most o’ the night,” he said tersely.
The outlaw nodded. “I’m goin’ out to the Huntington ranch to-night, Bob. The agreement stands.”
“You kin expect me there round noon, Billy,” said Warburton, turning away.
“You’ll find me waitin’, sheriff.”
“Send them cow-punchers in. Tell ’em to report here.”
Half an hour later, a hostler brought two saddle horses up to the hotel entrance. Lex Sangerly and his father stood on the sidewalk along with Mrs. Liggs, and watched as Billy Gee and Dot mounted and rode down the quiet street, bound for the lonely, desolate ranch on Soapweed Plains. Mrs. Liggs was weeping disconsolately into her handkerchief, a pathetic little figure, bent and broken with a sorrow she had never earned.