Keller brought his horse round from back of Flat Rock, where it had been
picketed. They started at once, cutting across the plain to a flat
butte, which thrust itself out from the hills into the valley. Two hours
of steady travel brought them to the butte, behind which lay Seven Mile
ranch.

At the first glimpse of the roofs shining in the golden sunlight Phyllis
gave a cry of delight.

"Home again. I wonder whether Father's here."

"I wonder," echoed Weaver grimly.

"That little fellow riding into the corral is one of my scholars," she
told them.

"One of the fourteen that loves you, Miss Going-On-Eighteen. My,
there'll be joy in Israel over the lost that is found. I reckon by
to-morrow you'll be teaching the young idea how to shoot." He glanced
down at his bandaged arm with a malicious grin.

Phyllis looked at him without speaking. It was Keller who made
application of the remark.

"There are others here beside her pupils. Some of them are right quick
and straight on the shoot, Mr. Weaver. Now you've seen Miss Sanderson
home, there's still time to make your getaway without trouble. How about
hitting the trail while travelling is good, seh?"

"What's the matter with you taking your own advice, Keller?"