"He knows better than to touch a hair of my head," she assured him with proud carelessness. Then, "Hide in those trees," she ordered.
Ned Rutherford answered her knock on the door of the jacal. At sight of her he exclaimed:—
"What are you doing here, Boots? At this time of night? Anything wrong?"
"Dad needs you, Ned. It seems there is trouble about that young man Street. Jess Tighe has sworn to kill him and dad won't have it. There's trouble in the air. You're to come straight home."
"Why didn't he send Jeff?"
"He needed him. You're to keep on down through the cañon to the mouth. Jess has the mouth of the arroyo guarded to head off Street."
"But—what's broke? Why should Tighe be so keen on bumping off this pink-ear when dad says no?"
"They've found out who he is. It seems Street is an alias. He is really Royal Beaudry, the son of the man who used to be sheriff of the county, the one who crippled Jess the day he was killed."
The slim youth in the high-heeled boots whistled. He understood now why Tighe dared to defy his father.
"All right, Boots. With you in a minute, soon as I get my hat and let Dan know."