"You'll help, sir?"
"For all young Ryan's worth, and then"—McCalmont laid his hands on Jim's shoulders—"you'll take Curly home as yo' wife, eh, partner?"
"If she is willing, sir."
McCalmont's ears went back against his head, he lifted his nose to the west, pointing up wind. There was a sound like the thud of raindrops on dust, a soft pattering which came nearer and stronger. He loosed off the long yell to rouse the three men who were resting by the barn, he told Jim to pick up his gun and help, he jumped for the team horses and led them to the buckboard.
The pattering had grown up out of the distance to a steady rush of sound, the ground had begun to quiver, then to shake, then with a yell of warning, Buck and his sentries came thundering in from the desert.
CHAPTER XX
THE MARSHAL'S POSSE
McCalmont backed his team to the buckboard, lifted the waggon tongue to the ring of the yoke bar, and jumped to hitch on the traces, just as Buck reined all standing to report.
"There's a strong posse," says Buck, "coming out from the Mule Pass—maybe sixty riders, and they're shorely burning the trail straight for this ranche."