Leading his horse, Buck followed Silent towards the girl.  She did not move when they approached.  Her eyes still held far down the valley.  The steps of the big outlaw were shorter and shorter as they drew close to the girl.  Finally he stopped and turned to Buck with a gesture of resignation.

“Look at her!  This is what she’s been doin’ ever since yesterday.  Buck, it’s up to you to make good.  There she is!”

“All right,” said Buck, “it’s about time for you amachoors to exit an’ leave the stage clear for the big star.  Now jest step back an’ take notes on the way I do it.  In fifteen minutes by the clock she’ll be eatin’ out of my hand.”

Silent, expectant but baffled, retired a little.  Buck removed his hat and bowed as if he were in a drawing-room.

“Ma’am,” he said, “I got the honour of askin’ you to side-step up to the shanty with me an’ tackle a plate of ham an’ eggs.  Are you on?”

To this Chesterfieldian outpouring of the heart, she responded with a slow glance which started at Buck’s feet, travelled up to his face, and then returned to the purple distance down the canyon.  In spite of himself the tell-tale crimson flooded Buck’s face.  Far away he caught the muffled laughter of the outlaws.  He replaced his hat.

“Don’t make no mistake,” he went on, his gesture including the bandits in the background, and Silent particularly, “I ain’t the same sort as these other fellers.  I c’n understand the way you feel after bein’ herded around with a lot of tin horns like these.  I’m suggestin’ that you take a long look at me an’ notice the difference between an imitation an’ a real man.”

She did look at him.  She even smiled faintly, and the smile made Buck’s face once more grow very hot.  His voice went hard.

“For the last time, I’m askin’ if you’ll go up to the cabin.”

There was both wonder and contempt in her smile.

In an instant he was in his saddle.  He swung far to one side and caught her in his arms.  Vaguely he heard the yell of excitement from the outlaws.  All he was vividly conscious of was the white horror of her face.  She fought like a wildcat.  She did not cry out.  She struck him full in the face with the strength of a man, almost.  He prisoned her with a stronger grip, and in so doing nearly toppled from the saddle, for his horse reared up, snorting.

A gun cracked twice and two bullets hummed close to his head.  From the corner of his eye he was aware of Silent and Rhinehart flinging themselves upon Lee Haines, who struggled furiously to fire again.  He drove his spurs deep and the cattle pony started a bucking course for the shanty.

“Dan!” he muttered at her ear.

The yells of the men drowned his voice.  She managed to jerk her right arm free and struck him in the face.  He shook her furiously.

“For Whistling Dan!” he said more loudly.  “He’s dying!”

She went rigid in his arms.