The cowboy began to sag in the saddle. His friend helped him to the ground. The wound was in the thigh.
"I'll tie it up for you an' you'll be good as new," promised his friend.
The older man looked toward the gorge. No Indians were in sight.
"I can wait, but that little girl in the hands of those devils can't. Are you game to play a lone hand, kid?" he asked.
"I reckon."
"Then ride hell-for-leather up Escondido. It's shorter than the way they took. Where the gulches come together be waitin' an' git 'em from the brush. There's just one slim chance you'll make it an' come back alive."
The boy's eyes were shining. "Suits me fine. I'll go earn that name I christened myself—Jimmie-Go-Get-'Em."
Billie, his face twisted with pain, watched the youngster disappear at a breakneck gallop into Escondido.
Chapter III
Ranse Roush Pays