The Little River news., 1920-04-28

Softly Flandrau put the neau Dach in the sand and rose to his feet. The revolver of the dead puncher was in his hand. The riders were closing in on him. The nearest called to him to surrender. Almost at the same time red-hot pain shot through the left arm of the trapped rustler. Someone had nipped him from the rear.
 Curly saw red. Surrender noth- ing! He would go down fighting. As fast as he could blaze he emptied Macs gun. When the smoke cleared the man who had ordered him to give up was slipping from his horse. Curly was surprised, but he knew he must have hit him by chance.
 "We got him. His guns empty" some one shouted.
 Cautiously they closed in, keeping him covered all the time. Of a sudden the plain tilted up to meet the SKY. Flandrau felt himself swaying on his feet. Everything went black. The boy had tainted.
 When he came to himself strange faces were all around him and there were no bodies to go with them. They seemed to float about in an odd, casual sort of way. Then things cleared.
 He's coming to all right" one said. How is Cullison3"
 This was said to another who had just come up.
 "Hard hit. Looks about all in. Got him in the side."
 The rage died out of Curly. In a flash he saw all that had como of this drunken spree: the rustling of the Bar Double M stock, the discovery, the death of his friend and maybe of Cullison. the certain punishment that would follow. He was . horse thief caught almost in the act. Perhaps he was . murderer. too. And the whole thing had been entirely unpremedi- tated.
 You've played h-," one of the men told the boy.
 He was a sawed-off little fellow known as Dutch. F1andrau had seen him in the Map of Texas country a year or two before. The rest were strangers to the boy. All of them looked at him out of hard. hostile eyes. He was scarcely a human being to them rather wolf to be stamped out of existence as soon as 1t was conven- fent.
 At shift in the group F1ai1tlrau's eyes fell on his friend lying in the sand with face turned whitely to the sky he never would see again. A lump came into the boys throat and he had to work it down before he spoke.
 There's picture in his pocket, and some letters, I reckon. Send them to Miss Myra Anderson, Tombstone. care of one of the restaurants. don't know which one."
 Send nothin'." sneered Dutch. and coupled 1t with a remark no decent man makes of woman on a guess.
 Because of poor Mac lying there with the little hole in his temple Curly boiled over. With jerk his right arm was free It shot out like a pile driver, all his weight behind the blow. Dutch went down as if charging bull had flung him.
 Almost simultaneously Curly hit the sand hard. Before he could stir three men were straddled over his anatomy. One of them ground his head into the dust.
 You would, eh! We'll see about that. Jake, bring yore rope"
 They tied the hands of the boy, hauled him to his feet, and set him astride a horse. In the distance a windmill of the Circle c ranch was shining in the morning sun. Toward the group of buildings clustered around this two of his captors started with Flandrau.
 As they rode along a fenced lane which led to the house girl came fly ing down the steps. At sight of those coming toward her she called out quickly:
 How is dad?" The culver of fear broke in her voice.
 Don't know yet, Miss Kate" an swered one of the men. He's right peart, though. Says for to tell you not to worry. We've got here the mangy son of gun that did it"
 Before he had finished she was off like an arrow shot from bow, but not until her eyes had fallen on the youth sitting bareheaded and bloody between the guns of his guard. Curly noticed that she had given a shudder, as one might at sight of mangled mad dog which had just bit dear friend. Long after the pounding of her pony's hoofs had died away the prisoner could see the startled eyes of fear and horror that had rested on him.
 His guards put Flandrau in the bunk house and one of them sat at the door with a rife across his knees. The cook the stable boy, and red-headed Bob Cullison, nenhew of the owner of the ranch, peered past the vaQuero at the captive with the same awe they would have yielded to a caged panther.
 "Why, he's only kid. Buck" the cook whispered.
 Buck chewed tobacco impassively. "Old enough to be a rustler, and a