“I hate to leave you, cap—and you so bad. Can’t I do a thing for you?”
Leroy smiled faintly. “Not a thing. I’ll be right here when you get back, York.”
The curly-headed young puncher took Leroy’s hand in his, gulping down a boyish sob. “I ain’t been square with you, cap. I reckon after this—when you git well—I’ll not be such a coyote any more.”
The dying man’s eyes were lit with a beautiful tenderness. “There’s one thing you can do for me, York.... I’m out of the game, but I want you to make a new start.... I got you into this life, boy. Quit it, and live straight. There’s nothing to it, York.”
The cowboy-bandit choked. “Don’t you worry about me, cap. I’m all right. I’d just as lief quit this deviltry, anyhow.”
“I want you to promise, boy.” A whimsical, half-cynical smile touched Leroy’s eyes. “You see, after living like a devil for thirty years, I want to die like a Christian. Now, go, York.”
After Neil had left him, Leroy’s eyes closed. Faintly he heard two more shots echoing down the valley, but the meaning of them was already lost to his wandering mind.
Neil dodged rapidly round the foot of the mountain with intent to cut off the bandits as they retreated. He found the sheriff crouching behind a rock scarce two hundred yards from the scene of the murder. At the same moment another shot echoed from well over to the left.
“Who can that be?” Neil asked, very much puzzled.
“That’s what’s worrying me, York,” the sheriff returned.