" Don't you see, girl, you 're outlawed now—just like Zang Whistler?" the man urged. "What they call law in this country 'll be agin you from now until you 're caught. An' this man here, this Original Bill 's a mighty bad hombre to have campin' on your trail. I 'll say that for him because I know. He 's a wolf for trailing an' trailing an' never letting go. Over in the Spout I can give you protection an'—an', yes, Hilma girl, I can give you love. A clean love, Hilma, like what a man oughta give a woman. What do you say, Hilma?"
She had bound two lengths of gingham about the injured hand and deftly anchored them in place with a needle and thread before she made answer.
"If you want me on my terms, Zang, I 'll go with you." The outlaw's eyes lighted and he took a step toward her.
"What 's the contract, little woman?"
"You 'll hear that after we get to the Spout," the girl said evenly.
Fifteen minutes later Hilma Ring, on the back of her father's drab little horse, Christian, was riding with Zang Whistler toward the distant notch in the Broken Horns which rep-
