"Give him here!" The Kid seized the limp form and pa.s.sed it to someone at his side. "We'll get 'em out like a bucket-brigade! Pa.s.s 'em to me, Bud!"

Through the smoke Bud groped his way. His hand encountered another body. In a moment he lifted the man and pa.s.sed him to the Kid. His head felt as if it were bursting, but on he struggled, seeking, hands outstretched. He pa.s.sed another body out to the Kid. Another. Then he heard a moan and turned toward it. A man lay against the wall. His hands moved feebly, and even in the smoke and gloom Bud, could see blood streaming from a cut on his head. The boy bent over and grasped the man's arm. His face was within an inch of the other's.

"Delton!"

The boy's cry was involuntary. Here, under his very hands, was the man who was the cause of their misfortunes--who had committed crimes, no telling how many, and who had perhaps shot one of their comrades. And yet Bud was risking his life to save this creature. Was it fair to ask----?

A low moan came from the wretched figure. Bud looked for a long moment at the blood-stained face. Then with a sudden heave he lifted him and staggered to the door.

"I'll take him!" he gasped to the Kid, who had reached for the burden.

"See if there are any more!"

He heard Yellin' Kid smashing against the walls in an effort to locate other senseless figures. Then he followed Bud.

"Can't find any more. Ask the Mex how many----"

The cook heard the inquiry and flung his arms wide, indicating that the rest had made their escape. The Kid, gasping, plunged out into the open.

As he gulped in great mouthfuls of the welcome fresh air the Kid heard a sudden crash. He turned quickly. A shower of sparks and flames shot into the air, like the eruption of a volcano. There was another roar, and the next moment the building was in ruins. The walls had collapsed, and nothing remained of the structure but a pile of embers.

With horror written on his face, the Kid looked wildly about him.

"Bud!" he almost screamed. "Bud--is he in there? Get him out--get him----"

"All right, Kid--all right--" said a voice by his side. It was Bud.

The Kid stared at him for a long minute, with a suspicious moisture in his eyes. Then he laid his hand on Bud's shoulder.

"Thought--you were--" he said in a husky voice. And he did a strange yet a boyish thing. He withdrew his hand from Bud's shoulder and planted it hard under the other's ribs.

"Baby!" he exclaimed. "We sure did clean up that place! Threw them out like bags of corn. Anybody hurt bad?"

The two, their faces blackened and with clothes torn, walked toward the group of men gathered about the injured. They saw the forms stretched on the ground, and for a moment feared that their rescue work had been in vain.

The boy ranchers looked at the figure upon the ground. The man groaned and opened his eyes. He stared straight into the eyes of Bud. For a moment hostility glared out at the boy, then Delton half closed his eyes as though he were trying to think. The men gathered about were quiet, watching their prisoner. He wet his lips with his tongue.

"Thanks," he murmured, and held out his hand with a feeble gesture.

Bud reached down and grasped it with a smile.

"Don't mention it," the boy said quickly. Then he straightened up and looked over to Mr. Hawkins. "Say, are you thinking the same thing I am?" he asked the agent.

"You mean, where are the c.h.i.n.ks? You bet I'm wondering that! Wait, I believe I can find out. Hey, Mex!" The agent called to the cook who was standing on the edge of the group. "Come here! You know him?"

He pointed to a man seated on the ground, leaning against a tree, with one of his sleeves burned entirely away. The arm was scorched. But with his other hand the man was calmly holding a cigarette.

The Mexican cook looked at him and then nodded briefly.

"He's your brother, isn't he?"

Another careless nod.

"Then you ask him what became of the c.h.i.n.ks!"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" d.i.c.k wanted to know.

"Tried it--won't answer. I think his brother can make him talk."

This proved to be correct. The cook bent over his brother and made a few rapid motions with his fingers. The seated man muttered something.

Again the cook's fingers moved. This time his brother answered more at length, and the cook walked in the direction of a small shed, motioning to the others to follow. Nort and Mr. Hawkins trailed along behind.

When they reached the shack the cook pointed to it.

"In there?" the agent asked doubtfully. It didn't seen large enough to hold more than two men. It had probably been used to shelter a calf when the place had been run by a farmer.

The Mexican nodded. Hawkins stepped to the small door and jerked it open. A bundled-up ma.s.s of humanity almost tumbled into his arms, and when they untangled themselves, there were not two Chinese, but five!

"How in thunderation did you all ever get in there?" Nort inquired wonderingly. "Hey, you! Quiet down! We're not going to hurt you.

What do you think this is, a circus? Gee! They were like sardines!"

The Chinese were as excited as rabbits, and chattered away in evident fear. None of them spoke English, and it was some time before they could be made to understand that no harm was intended them.

As the agent returned to the little group of wounded and others, he saw them centered about something and all talking at once. He quickened his pace and in a moment saw the cause of the commotion.

"Billee Dobb!" he exclaimed. "Golly, I'm glad to see you moving again!

How did you get over here?"

"d.i.c.k and Yellin' Kid carried me," the veteran rancher answered with a smile. "Like a silly baby! They jest lifted me up an' brung me along.

Said I had to see the last act, anyway."

"How are you feeling?" Hawkins asked anxiously. "I wanted to go to you soon as I heard about it, but I couldn't, Billee."

"Sure, I know you couldn't. I was all right. d.i.c.k stayed by me until I had to threaten him with a six-gun to get him to help you people.

Why, I'm feelin' O. K. now. Jest got me in the shoulder. Laid me out for a spell--I ain't as young as I was--why, I remember the time when I got an arrow full in the side--didn't phase me none--went right on and got the guy that shot it--I was a man in them days--I remember----"

"Now, Billee, take it easy," Bud said gently. "Tell us all about it later. You got lots of time. Thirsty?"

"A leettle," the rancher replied with a sigh. Bud leaned over and held his canteen to the other's lips. Billee took a long drink and sighed again. "Tired," he said weakly. "Want to sleep."

He lay back on the blanket. Bud drew the edges over him and motioned the others away. "Let him sleep. Best thing in the world for him.

We'll take him back later. I don't want to move him until that wound gets good and quiet."

"What about these others?" Nort inquired. "We want to get them out of the way. There are five men who can't walk. Then there's two more who managed to get out without being burned. They're here too. We've got to get them all back some way. Can't walk them, and we haven't enough horses. What do you think, Mr. Hawkins?"

"Let me see," the agent said. "It is a problem, Nort. Bud, have you a suggestion? The sooner we can get the bunch to town the quicker we'll get something hot to eat. And a little sleep wouldn't harm us any.

Think of anything, Bud?"

"Well, if--" The boy stopped and listened intently. In the distance he heard the sounds of horses. Then as they approached nearer the creaking noise of a wagon traveling fast came to him. The next moment all heard a voice yelling:

"Get along there, boys! Watch it--watch it! Pete, you spavin-back cayuse, come out of that! Quit side-steppin'! At a baby--now yore goin'! Out of that hole! Out of it! Pete! Pete! You dog-eared knock-kneed bleary-eyed paint, if you don't swing wide I'll skin you alive! You, Pete!"

A rattling buckboard popped into view like the presiding genius of a jack-in-the-box.