"We'll have to stand 'em off heah," he panted.
The Texan's eyes surveyed his exhausted horse. They seemed to light with an idea. Even in that desperate plight, his mind worked rapidly.
"I've got a hunch, Dave," he said. "It may not help us, but——"
He quickly loaded one of his .45s and stuck it down in one of Blizzard's stirrups in such a way that it could not jolt out. Then he gave the horse a sharp pat on the neck.
"Go, Blizzahd," he urged, "until I call!"
The horse seemed to understand perfectly, for it wheeled and ran with all its speed down the arroyo. It was soon lost to sight among the mesquites.
"He'll stay out of sight and within call," explained the Texan. "We may need him worse than we do now. Anyway, Garvey will have plenty trouble gettin' that express money."
They prepared to fight it out until the last, for already the Indians were forcing their ponies down into the arroyo. A triumphant shout went up—a shout that became an elated, bloodthirsty war cry. The Apaches saw that the two white men were almost within their grasp.
"Good-by, Dave," said The Kid.
They grasped hands for a moment. There was no fear in their faces.
Then they confronted the renegades. It was to be their last stand!