"I reckon you've got him right there in your coat and pants."

"I ain't so dead sure, Buck," spoke up Pesky. "We didn't see the man so
as to know him."

"Riding a roan, wasn't he?" snapped the owner of the Twin Star outfit.

"Looked that way," admitted the cowpuncher.

"Well, then?"

"Keller! Why, that's the name given by the rustler who broke away from
us two weeks ago," Curly spoke out.

"No use jawing. I'm going to hang his skin up to dry," Weaver ground out
between set teeth.

"By his own way of it, he's only one of them dashed nesters," Irwin
added.

Keller was putting two and two together, in amazement. The would-be
assassin had, during the past few minutes, been driven into this gulch,
riding a roan horse. He could swear that only one person had come in
before these pursuers--and that one was a woman on a roan. Her
frightened eyes, the fear that showed in every motion, her hurried
flight, all contributed to the same inevitable conclusion. It was
difficult to believe it, but impossible to deny. This wild, sylvan
creature, with the shy, wonderful eyes, had lain in ambush to kill her
father's enemy, and was flying from the vengeance on her heels.