“How about pullin’ a little strategy on Sanders, Jim?  Instead of hittin’ the long trail, let’s circle back around the town, strike the river, make camp, an’ lie low in the chaparral.  Does that listen good to you?”

Young Clanton looked at his friend suspiciously.  The younger man was fagged out and in a good deal of pain.  The jolting of the pony’s movements jarred the bandages on the wound.  Already his fever was high and he had moments of light-headedness.  He knew that his partner was proposing to jeopardize his own chances of escape in order to take care of him.

“No, sir.  We’ll keep goin’ right ahead,” he said irritably.  “Think I’m a quitter?  Think I’m goin’ to lie down on you?”

“Would I be likely to think that?” asked Billie gently.  “What I’m thinking is that both of us would be better for a good night’s rest.  Why not throw off an’ camp in the darkness?  While we’re sleepin’ Sanders an’ his posse will be ridin’ the hearts out of their horses.  It looks like good business to me to let ’em go to it.”

“No,” said Jim obstinately.  “No.  We’ll keep ridin’.”

Prince knew that the other understood what he was trying to do, and that his pride—­and perhaps something better than pride—­would not accept such a sacrifice.  Billie said no more, but his mind still wrestled with the problem before him.  It was impossible, while his comrade was so badly hurt, to hold a pace that would keep them ahead of the Lazy S M riders.  Already Sanders must be gaining on them, and to make matters worse Clanton drew down to a walk.  His high-pitched voice and disjointed expressions told the older man that he was at the beginning of delirium.

“What do you mean, standing there and grinnin’ at me like a wolf, Dave Roush?  I killed you once.  You’re dead an’ buried.  How come you alive again?  Then shoot, both of you!  Come out from cover, Hugh Roush.”  He stopped, and took the matter up from another angle.  “You’re a liar, you coyote.  I’m not runnin’ away.  Two to one ... two to one ...  I’ll ride back an’ gun you both.  I’m a-comin’ now.”

He pulled up and turned his horse.  Faintly there came to Billie the thudding of horses’ hoofs.  In five minutes it would be too late to save either the sick man or himself.  It never occurred to him for a moment to desert Clanton.  Somehow he must get him into the chaparral, and without an instant’s delay.  His mind seized on the delirious fancy of the young fellow.

“You’re sure right, Jim,” he said quietly.  “I’d go an’ gun them too.  I’ll ride with you an’ see fair play.  They’re out here in the brush.  Come on.”

“No.  They’re back in town.  Leave ’em to me.  Don’t you draw, Billie.”

“All right.  But they’re over here to our right.  I saw ’em there.  Come.  We’ll sneak up on ’em so that they can’t run when they hear you.”

Billie turned.  He swung his horse into the mesquite.  His heart was heavy with anxiety.  Would the wounded man accept his lead?  Or would his obstinacy prevail?