"Nothing that time. I let them see I had them caught. They couldn't go forward or back. They laid down their arms, and took the back trail. There was no other way to escape being massacred."
"And the second time?"
Buck hesitated. "There was shooting that time. It was last night. My riders outnumbered them and had cover. We drove them back."
"Anybody hurt?" cried Phyllis.
"One of them fell. But he got up and ran limping to his horse, I figured he wasn't hurt badly."
"Was he--could you tell--" She leaned against the rock wall for support.
"No--I didn't know him. He was a young fellow. But you may be sure he wasn't hit mortally. I know, because I shot him myself."
"You!" She drew back in a sudden sick horror of him.
"Why not?" he answered doggedly. "They were shooting at me--aiming to kill, too. I shot low on purpose, when I might have killed him."
"Oh, I must go home--I must go home!" she moaned.
"I've got the sheriff's orders to hold you pending an investigation. What harm does it do you to stay here a while?" he asked doggedly.
"Don't you see? When my father hears of it he will be furious. I made Phil promise not to tell him. But he'll hear when he comes back. And then--there will be trouble. He'll drag me from you, or he'll die trying. He's that kind of man."
A pebble rolled down the face of the wall against which she leaned. Weaver looked up quickly--to find himself covered by a carbine.
"Hands up, seh! No--don't reach for a gun."
"So it's you, Mr. Keller! Homesteading up there, I presume?"
"In a way of speaking. You remember I asked you a question."
"And I told you to go to Halifax."
"Well, I came back to answer the question myself. You're going to turn the young lady loose."
"If you say so." Weaver's voice carried an inflection of sarcasm.
"That's what I say. Miss Sanderson, will you kindly unbuckle that belt and round up the weapons of war? Good enough! I'll drift down that way now myself."
Keller lowered himself from Flat Rock, keeping his prisoner covered as carefully as he could the while. But, though Keller came down the steep bluff with infinite pains, the rough going offered a chance of escape to one so reckless as Weaver, of which he made not the least attempt to avail himself. Instead, he smiled cynically and waited with his hand in the air, as bidden. Keller, coming forward with both eyes on his prisoner, slipped on a loose boulder that rolled beneath his foot, stumbled, and fell, almost at the feet of the cattleman. He got up as swiftly as a cat. Weaver and his derisive grin were in exactly the same position.