"Chad won't hurt Ruth any. He wouldn't dare. This country won't stand for that kind of a play with a girl. Arizona would hang him to the first telegraph pole that was handy."
The cowpuncher looked at him and spoke dryly. "I reckon the skunk's been out of Arizona quite some time. He's in greaser land now, and I never heard tell that Pasquale was so darned particular what his men did. Just tie a knot in this: if Harrison reaches the insurrecto camp with yore sister, she'll come back as his wife—or not at all."
"By God! I'll kill Harrison at sight if he hurts a hair of her head," the boy cried, a lump in his throat.
"Mebbe you will, mebbe you won't. Chad ain't just what you'd call a white man. He'll shoot out of the chaparral if he's pressed. Someone's going to git hurt if we bump into Mr. Harrison. It won't be no picnic a-tall to take him. He's liable to be more hos-tile than a nest of yellow jackets."
"Leave him to me if we come up with him. I'll shoot it out with him," the boy cried wildly.
Jackson grinned. "You're crazy with the heat, boy. What do you reckon I bought chips in this game for? I want a crack at the coyote myself."
Phil and Jackson caught up with old Dan a mile or so beyond the point where the road to the Lazy B left the main traveled trail.
"The other boys hitting the dust for the ranch?" asked Jackson.
"Yep."
"Yeager's got it right. They won't find Harrison there. He'll go through with his play. Chad's no quitter."