"How long am I to wait for you?" asked Threewit.

"We'd ought to be back inside of an hour and a half--if luck's with us.

But we may be delayed by some one hanging around. Give us two hours or even two and a half--unless h.e.l.l begins to pop." Steve looked at his watch in the moonlight. "Say till twelve o'clock. Of course, when you go, you'll leave the other horses here on the chance that we come later.

You'd better ride that round-bellied bay."

"Am I to follow the star right up the hill?"

"No. Better take the draw. The sentinels will be on the hill. Likely they'll see you and shoot at you. But don't stop, even if they're close. Keep a-going. They can't hit a barn door."

"Neither can I," lamented the director.

"Then you'll all be safe." Yeager turned to Farrar. "Come on, Frank."

The two crossed the pasture to the river and waded through the shallow stream to the other side. They remained in the shadows of the bank, following the bend of the river as it circled the village. Through the cottonwoods they crept toward the rear of the two-story house where Pasquale lived and Ruth was held prisoner.

From a sandy spot at the foot of a cotton wood tree Yeager dug a rope ladder.

"Been making it while I was night-herding the remuda," he told Farrar in answer to a surprised question.

"Beats me you didn't make an auto for us to get away in," answered his admiring friend with a grin.

"Wait here," whispered Steve. "I'm going forward to look the ground over. Keep your eyes open in case I give a signal."

The range-rider snaked his way toward the house, moving so slowly and noiselessly that Farrar lost sight of him entirely and began to wonder where he had gone. It must have been nearly twenty minutes later that he caught a glimpse of him without his rifle. Yeager was engaged in confidential talk with a guard in uniform. Frank saw the bottle pa.s.s from his friend to the Mexican, who took a pull at it. A second guard joined the two presently. He also took a drink.

The three disappeared together into the shadowy darkness of the house wall. Farrar was wondering what had happened when a single figure emerged into the moonlight and made a signal for him to come forward.

Yeager did not wait for him, but climbed up the post of the back porch as he had done once before. The camera man was on hand by the time Steve reached the roof. He looked up silently while his friend reached across and rapped on the window of a lighted room. The sash was raised very gently.

Ruth leaned out. "Is it you, Steve?" Her voice was tremulous and tearful. It was a safe guess she had been sobbing her misery into a pillow.

"Yes."

He caught hold of the edge of the window and swung across, working himself up and in by sheer power of muscle. Rapidly he fastened the end of the rope ladder to the head of the bed, which he first half lifted and half dragged to the window. The rest of the ladder he threw out.

"Ready, Ruth?" he asked, turning to her.

She nodded. He was offering his arm to help her through the window when a frightened call came from below.

"Steve!"

He looked down. A Mexican trooper, one of those set to guard the front of the house, was approaching. A glance was enough to show that he knew something to be wrong. His startled eyes pa.s.sed from Farrar to the rope ladder. They followed it from the ground to the window. He stopped, almost under the window. The camera man, taken aback, did not know what to do. Was he to run the risk of a shot? Even while he hesitated the man in uniform reached for a revolver.

Yeager knew what to do, and he did it promptly. Sweeping Ruth back from the window, he clambered through himself and poised his body for the leap. The sentry looked up again, saw what was about to happen, and let out a startled scream at the same instant that he flung up an arm and fired. Steve felt a sharp sting in his leg as he descended through the air. He landed astride on the shoulders of the Mexican. The man went to earth, hammered down so hard that the breath was driven from his body.

The arm of the range-rider rose and fell once. In his hand was the blue barrel of a revolver. The corrugated b.u.t.t of the .45 had crashed into the thick matted hair of the Mexican. But it had done its work. Yeager rose quickly. The soldier lay still.

Already Ruth was coming down the swaying ladder. She dropped the last few rounds with a rush, plump into the arms of Steve.

"Let us hurry--hurry," she cried.

It was time to be gone, if not too late. Already men were converging upon them from different sides. Others were bawling orders for soldiers to turn out.

Steve went down almost as quickly as he had risen. His leg had given way unexpectedly.

Before he reached his feet again his revolver was out and doing business.

"Fire at their legs, Frank. All we want to do is to stop them. Ruth, you run ahead, straight for the trees. We'll be with you in a minute,"

Yeager gave orders quietly.

The girl flashed one look at him, found a.s.surance in his strong, lean face, and obeyed without a word.

Farrar's rifle was already scattering bullets rather wildly into the night. Lead spattered against the adobe wall behind them. But the attackers were checked. Their fire was of a desultory character. There was such a thing as being too impetuous. Who were these men they were a.s.sailing? Perhaps they were acting under orders of Pasquale. Better not be too rash. So the mind of the peon soldiers decided.

As soon as Ruth had reached the shelter of the grove her friends moved to join her. They were halfway across the open when the cowpuncher plunged to the ground again.

The camera man turned and ran back to him. "What is it, Steve? Have they hit you?" he asked anxiously.

"Plugged a pill into my laig as I took the elevator down from the second story. Gimme a hand up."

Frank put an arm around his waist as a support and they reached cover just as the leg failed for a third time. Yeager crawled forward a few yards on his knees into the underbrush.

Soft arms slid around his neck and shoulder as someone plumped down beside him.

"You're wounded. You've been shot," Ruth breathed tremulously.

"Yes," a.s.sented Yeager. "Hand me your rifle, Frank."

They exchanged weapons. Steve had already made up his mind exactly what was best to do.

"I'm going to stay here awhile and hold them back. You go on with Ruth, Frank. Leave a horse for me. I'll be along later," he explained.

"We're not going away to leave you here," protested Ruth indignantly.

His voice was so matter of fact and his manner so competent that she had already drawn back, half ashamed, from the caressing support to which her feelings had driven her.

He turned on her eyes cool and steely. "You're going to do as I say, girl. You're wasting time for all of us every moment you stay. Take her, Frank."

Farrar spoke in a low voice of troubled doubt. "But what are you going to do, Steve? We can't leave you here."

The bullets of the Mexicans were searching the grove for them. Any moment one might find a mark.

The range-rider made a gesture of angry impatience. "You obey orders fine, don't you?" His face flashed sudden anger. "Get out. I know my plans, don't I? Pull your freight. Vamos!"

"And you'll be along later, will you?"

"Of course I will. I've got it all arranged. Hurry, or it will be too late."

Ruth half guessed his purpose. She began to sob, but let herself be hurried away by Farrar.