"I suppose you've been wondering why your people have made no attempt to
rescue you," he said presently; for he saw her eyes were turned toward
the hills beyond which lay her home.

"I'm glad they haven't, because it must have made trouble; but I _am_
surprised," she confessed.

"They have tried it--twice," he told her. "First time was Saturday
morning, just before daylight. We trapped them as they were coming
through the Box Cañon. I knew they would come down that way, because it
was the nearest; so I was ready for them."

"And what happened?" Her dilated eyes were like those of a stricken doe.

"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.