Thursday did not answer.  He had left the saddle and was examining the ground carefully.  Billie joined him.  In the soft sand of the wash were tracks of horses’ hoofs.  Patiently the trailer followed them foot by foot to the point where they left the dry creek-bed and swung up the broken bank to a swale.

“Probably Roubideau and his son Jean after strays,” suggested Prince.

“No.  Notice this track here, how it’s broken off at the edge.  When I cut Indian sign yesterday, this was one of those I saw.”

“Then these are ’Paches too?”

“Yes.”

“Goin’ to the Roubideau place.”  The voice of Billie was low and husky.  His brown young face had been stricken gray.  Bleak fear lay in the gray eyes.  His companion knew he was thinking of the girl.  “How many of ’em do you make out?”

“Six or seven.  Not sure which.”

“How old?”

“They passed here not an hour since.”

It was as if a light of hope had been lit in the face of the young man.  “Mebbe there’s time to help yet.  Kid, I’m goin’ in.”

Jim Thursday made no reply, unless it was one to vault to the saddle and put his horse to the gallop.  They rode side by side, silently and alertly, rifles across the saddle-horns in their hands.  The boy from Arizona looked at his new friend with an increase of respect.  This was, of course, a piece of magnificent folly.  What could two boys do against half a dozen wily savages?  But it was the sort of madness that he loved.  His soul went out in a gush of warm, boyish admiration to Billie Prince.  It was the beginning of a friendship that was to endure, in spite of rivalry and division and misunderstanding, through many turbid years of trouble.  This was no affair of theirs.  Webb had sent them out to protect the cattle drive.  They were neglecting his business for the sake of an adventure that might very well mean the death of both of them.  But it was characteristic of Thursday that it never even occurred to him to let Prince take the chance alone.  Even in the days to come, when his name was anathema in the land, nobody ever charged that he would not go through with a comrade.

There drifted to them presently the faint sound of a shot.  It was followed by a second and a third.

“The fight’s on,” cried Thursday.

Billie’s quirt stung the flank of his pony.  Near the entrance to the canon his companion caught up with him.  From the rock walls of the gulch came to them booming echoes of rifles in action.

“Roubideau must be standin’ ’em off,” shouted Prince.

“Can we take the ’Paches by surprise?  Is there any other way into the canon?”

“Don’t know.  Can’t stop to find out.  I’m goin’ straight up the road.”

The younger man offered no protest.  It might well be that the ranchman was in desperate case and in need of immediate help to save his family.  Anyhow, the decision was out of his hands.