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"That idea just got through your thick British skull?" queried Artie, rousing again. "I wish we had some way to carry the young lady she can't walk," said Westmore, paying no attention. "I have my horse tied out by the lone Joshua-tree," I answered him. "I'm going to take a look at that Cortinez," said the little Englishman, nodding his satisfaction at my news as to the horse.
I rode up as close as I thought I ought to. Then I tied my horse to a prominent lone Joshua-tree that would be easy to find, unstrapped the black bag, and started off. The black bag, however, bothered me; so after some thought I broke the lock with a stone and investigated the contents, mainly by feel.
It was up to us to utilize the few minutes before the ranch should be aroused. We doubled back through the willows and across the mesquite flat toward the lone Joshua-tree where I had left my horse. I held the girl's hand to help her when she stumbled, while Brower scuttled along with surprising endurance for a dope wreck. Nobody said anything, but saved their wind. "Where's Tim?"
I asked at a check when we had to scramble across a barranca. "He went back into the ranch the way we came," replied Artie with some bitterness. It was, nevertheless, the wisest thing he could have done. He had not been identified with this outfit except by Cortinez, and Cortinez was safe for twelve hours. We found the Joshua-tree without difficulty. "Now," said I, "here is the plan.
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