"He'll spoil that game leg of his again, first thing he knows," the old-timer growled as he followed in the rear.
Presently a second shot rang out. Davis hastened forward as fast as he could.
At the top of the ridge he came on his companion sitting behind a rock.
"Lost him in these rocks, did you?" he asked.
A sardonic smile lit up the face of his friend.
"No, Steve, I found him; but he persuaded me I oughtn't to travel so fast on this leg. You see, he had a rifle, and my six-gun was outclassed. I couldn't get into range, and decided to hunt cover, after he took another crack at me."
"I should think you'd know better than to go hunting bear with a twenty-two."
"It ain't a twenty-two; but, for a fact, it don't carry a mile. I got what I want, though. I know who the gentleman is."
"Sure it wasn't a lady, Dick?"
"Don't you, Steve," warned Gordon. "She's a lady and a Christian. You wouldn't say that if you knew her. Besides, she saved my life."
"Who was it? That Pesky fellow?"
"No. He's hot-blooded; but he wouldn't strike below the belt. He's a gentleman. This was one of the lads on her home-place, an eighteen-year-old boy named Pedro. He's in love with her. I saw it soon as I set eyes on him the day I went there. He worships her as if she were a saint. Of course, he loves her without any hope; but that doesn't keep him from being jealous of me. He's heard about the row, and he thinks he'll do her a service by putting me out of the game."
"Sort of fix you up with that permanent residence you were talking about," suggested Steve.
"He didn't make good this time, anyhow. I'll bet a hat he'd catch it if Miss Valdés knew what he had been doing."
"She may be a Christian and all you say, Dick, but she don't run a Sunday school on her ranch and train these young greasers proper. I don't like this ambushing. They might git the wrong man."
"I'm not partial to it, myself. That lead pill hummed awful close to me."
They had by this time returned to the road, and Dick picked up his hat from the dust. There were two little round holes in the crown, and one in the brim.
"If he had shot an inch lower I would have qualified for that permanent residence, Steve," Dick laughed.
"Hmp! Let's get out of here pronto, Dick. I'm darned if I like to be the target at a shooting gallery. And next time I go riding there's going to be a good old Winchester lying over my saddle-horn."