“Well, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do with him,” said the bully, with a blustering air.  “We’re goin’ to hang him as high as that telegraph pole out thar.”

“Bet you anything you’ve got you don’t,” said Ted, with a pleasant smile.

There was a murmur of anger in the crowd.

“Don’t let them get me,” wailed old Norris.

“Dry up!” said Stella sternly.  “Don’t you see he’s trying to save you.”

“Why do you want to hang this old man?” asked Ted.

“Because he whipsawed us all.  He’s the only one who got any money out of that race.  We gave him five hundred dollars to pull it off.  He was broke, and couldn’t have bet a cent on it, anyway.  That’s why.  He said his horse would win in a walk, and every one of us went broke on it.”

“Good!  I’m glad to hear it,” said Ted heartily.  “You ought to have lost.  But I’ll tell you one thing, the old man really thought his horse would win.  He didn’t know that Bud’s horse was the old Mexican racer, Chiquita; neither did any of us except Bud, who kept the matter to himself, and there you are.  The old man is a professional skin, I’m free to confess, but he was out to skin us, not you.  You’ve got nothing against him.  You were beaten by gambler’s luck, and now you’re not game to stand by it.  But there is one sure thing, you’ll not get old Norris from me until you kill me.  That’s a cinch.”

“You’re a game kid, all right,” said Shan Rhue, “but you’re committing suicide with that kind o’ talk.  I didn’t lose so much myself, an’ I ain’t got nothin’ agin’ the ole man; it’s you I’m after—­”

“Why didn’t you come alone if you wanted me?  Was it necessary for you to bring a whole posse with you?”

“Now, the less I hear of that kind o’ talk, the easier it will be for you.  Hand over the old gaffer, an’ go your way peaceful.  You’ll get that much chance.”

“Thank you for nothing.  I stay by the old man.”

Farther up the street Ted saw a commotion out of which evolved a party of men moving in his direction.  He had no doubt it was Bud and Andy Bowles, the foreman of the Running Water Ranch.

“For the last time, give up that man!” commanded Shan Rhue.

“No.”

“Then we’ll take him.”

Kit had cut the old man’s bonds, and thrust a revolver into his hand.

“Fight for your life,” he said.

With a roar the mob was upon them.  Revolvers were drawn, and as they rushed forward the dauntless three surrounded Norris—­three against fifty.

“Halt!” cried Ted.  “The first man to lay a hand on any of us is a dead one.”

“Go on an’ take him.  I’ll attend to the kid,” shouted Shan Rhue.

“Get him!” “String him up!” “Lynch the old thief!”

These were the cries with which the mob advanced.

Out of the mob came several shots.  Ted heard a cry of pain behind him, and turned to see Stella reel in her saddle, pale to the lips, with her hand pressing her head, Then she fell.