A little later they went out and mounted their horses.  Lawler was pale, though he sat steadily in the saddle; and Shorty, big, exuding elation, grinned broadly as he glanced at the cabin as they rode away from it.

They rode up the river trail; Shorty expressing his elation by emitting low chuckles of grim mirth; Lawler silent, riding steadily, his gaze straight ahead.

It took them long to reach the point on the plains where the trails diverged.  And then Lawler spoke.  “Shorty, you go back to Hamlin’s and tell mother I killed Antrim.  You needn’t mention this scratch I’ve got.”

“Where you goin’?” demanded Shorty.

“Shorty,” said Lawler evenly; “you do as I say.”

“I’ll be damned if I do!” declared Shorty, his face flushing.  “That’s the kind of palaver Blackburn handed me when he sent me after Caldwell’s outfit, makin’ me miss the big scrap.  I ain’t missin’ nothin’ else.  If this thing is to be a clean-up I’m goin’ to be right close when the cleanin’ is bein’ done!

“I’m stayin’ right here, as long as you stay!  An’ when you get goin’, little Shorty will be taggin’ along, achin’ to salivate some more of the scum that’s been makin’ things howl in these parts.  Get goin’ where you’re goin’, Lawler!”

Shorty had not told Lawler all he knew of the wound in Lawler’s shoulder.  He knew that Lawler had lost much blood, and that he was losing more constantly; and that nothing but the man’s implacable courage was keeping him up.  And he did not intend to desert him.

Lawler laughed.  But he said nothing as he urged Red King over the Willets trail, riding at a fair pace, not so steady in the saddle as he had been.  His face was chalk white, but there was a set to his lips and a glow in his eyes that told Shorty there was no use in arguing.

Shorty permitted Lawler to hold the lead he had taken when they reached the Willets’ trail.  But Shorty kept a vigilant eye upon the big horse and his rider as they went over the plains toward town.  Twice Shorty saw Lawler reel in the saddle, and both times Shorty urged his horse forward to be close to him when he fell.  But each time Lawler stiffened and rode onward—­silent, grimly determined, with Shorty riding behind him, watching him with awed admiration.

Lawler had not mentioned the purpose of his ride to town, and Shorty was lost in a maze of futile conjecture.  Shorty knew, however, that a man in Lawler’s condition would not ride to town to gratify a whim; and the longer he watched Lawler the deeper became his conviction that another tragedy was imminent.  For there was something in Lawler’s manner, in the steady, unflagging way he rode; in the set of his head and the cold gleam of his eyes, that suggested more of the kind of violence in which both had participated at the Dickman cabin.

The sun was low when Lawler and Shorty rode into town—­Lawler riding ahead, as he had ridden all along; Shorty a few yards behind him, keenly watching him.