“That would have been tough luck,” admitted Prince, holding up the leather to examine his work.  “Learn to shoot if you like, Bud, but remember that guns aren’t made to kill folks with.  They’re for buffaloes an’ antelope an’ coyotes.”

“Didn’t you ever kill any one?”

“Haven’t you had any bringin’ up?” Billie wanted to know indignantly “I’ve a good mind to put you across my knee an’ whale you with this leather.  I’ve a notion to quit you here an’ now.  Don’t you know better than to ask such questions?”

“It—­it slipped out,” whimpered Bud.  “I’ll never do it again.”

“See you don’t.  Now I’m goin’ to give you a chance to make good with me an’ my friend, Bud.  Can you keep a secret?”

The eyes of the boy began to shine.  “Crickey.  You just try me, Mr. Prince.”

“All right.  I will.  But first I must know that you are our friend.”

“Cross my heart an’ hope to die.  Honest, I am.”

“I believe you, Bud.  Well, the Snaith-McRobert outfit intend to lynch me an’ my friend to-night.”

The face of the boy became all eyes.  He was too astonished to speak.

“Our only chance is to get out of town.  Jim is supposed to be so bad I can’t move him.  But if you can find an’ saddle horses for us we’ll slip out the back door at dusk an’ make our get-away.  Do you think you can get us horses an’ some food without tellin’ anybody what for?” asked the cowboy.

“I’ll get yore own horses from the corral.”

“No.  That won’t do.  If you saddled them, that would arouse suspicion at once.  You must bring two horses an’ tie ’em to the back fence just as if you were goin’ ridin’ yourself.  Then we’ll take ’em when you come into the house.  Make the tie with a slip knot.  We may be in a hurry.”

“Gee!  This beats ‘Hal Hiccup, the Boy Demon,’” crowed Bud, referring to a famous hero of Nickel Library fame.  “I’ll sure get you horses all right.”

“I’ll make arrangements to have the horses sent back.  Bring ’em round just as it begins to get dark an’ whistle a bar of ‘Yankee Doodle’ when you get here.  Now cut your stick, Bud.  Don’t be seen near me any more.”

The boy decamped.  His face, unable to conceal his excitement at this blessed adventure which had fallen from heaven upon him, was trying to say “Golly!” without the use of words.

During the next hour or two Bud was a pest.  Twenty times he asked different men mysteriously what o’clock it was.  When he was sent to the store for pickles he brought back canned tomatoes.  Set to weeding onions, he pulled up weeds and vegetables impartially.  A hundred times he cast a longing glance at the westering sun.

So impatient was he that he could not quite wait till dusk.  He slipped around to the Elephant Corral by a back way and picked out two horses that suited him.  Then he went boldly to the owner of the stable.

“Mr. Sanders sent me to bring to him that sorrel and the white-foot bay.  Said you’d know his saddle.  It doesn’t matter which of the other saddles you use.”