“You’re just too late, gentlemen,” I said, pointing out the side window of the saloon.  “There come the cavalry.”

The three conspirators jumped to their feet and bolted for the window; even the sheriff turned to look.  As he did so I gave him a shove toward the three which sent them all sprawling on the floor in a pretty badly mixed-up condition.  I made a dash for the door, and as I went through it I grabbed the key and locked them in.  When I turned to do so I saw the lot struggling up from the floor, and, knowing that it wouldn’t take them many seconds to find their way out through the window, I didn’t waste much time in watching them.

Camp, Baldwin, and the judge had left their horses just outside the saloon, and there they were still patiently standing, with their bridles thrown over their heads, as only Western horses will stand.  It didn’t take me long to have those bridles back in place, and as I tossed each over the peak of the Mexican saddle I gave two of the ponies slaps which started them off at a lope across the railroad tracks.  I swung myself into the saddle of the third, and flicked him with the loose ends of the bridle in a way which made him understand that I meant business.

Baldwin’s cowboys had most of them scattered to the various saloons of the place, but two of them were standing in the door-way of a store.  I acted so quickly, however, that they didn’t seem to take in what I was about till I was well mounted.  Then I heard a yell, and fearing that they might shoot—­for the cowboy does love to use his gun—­I turned sharp at the saloon corner and rode up the side street, just in time to see Camp climbing through the window, with Baldwin’s head in view behind him.

Before I had ridden a hundred feet I realized that I had a done-up horse under me, and, considering that he had covered over forty miles that afternoon in pretty quick time, it was not surprising that there wasn’t very much go left in him.  I knew that Baldwin’s cowboys could get new mounts in plenty without wasting many minutes, and that then they would overhaul me in very short order.  Clearly there was no use in my attempting to escape by running.  And, as I wasn’t armed, my only hope was to beat them by some finesse.

Ash Fork, like all Western railroad towns, is one long line of buildings running parallel with the railway tracks.  Two hundred feet, therefore, brought me to the edge of the town, and I wheeled my pony and rode down behind the rear of the buildings.  In turning, I looked back, and saw half a dozen mounted men already in pursuit, but I lost sight of them the next moment.  As soon as I reached a street leading back to the railroad I turned again, and rode toward it, my one thought being to get back, if possible, to the station, and put the letters into the railroad agent’s safe.