"I could kill you ... you interfering fool...."
But just then Billy Winch's one foot caught at a root and he came near falling, and Standing, instead of carrying out a threat, sprang toward him and steadied him; and Lynette saw a sincere rough affection in the way the big arms closed about Winch's body. Friends, these two.
"Who plugged you, Timber? And for the love of Mike, how come you to let it happen ... _twice_? But tell me: Who plugged you the second time?"
"Taggart," said Standing; "at least that's my bet. And," he added hastily, "it was Taggart that shot me the first time, through the window at Gallup's!"
Billy Winch looked sharp incredulity; his eyes flickered away to Lynette as he gave sign of seeing her for the first time.
"You thought wrong! She did not shoot me. You've got my word for that, Bill. _She did not shoot me!_"
"Sure, Timber?" he demanded. "Dead sure?"
"Yes," said Standing. "Taggart didn't believe I had already changed my papers, ruling his name out. If he could have dropped me and made it seem clear that she had done it.... See it, Bill?"
"Well," said Winch slowly, "I guess you know or you wouldn't say so. And Jim Taggart was a real man once. But I've seen signs of late; he's mildewed inside, clean through. As comes of running with such as Young Gallup."
Suddenly he whipped off his battered hat and turned a pair of bright and smiling, and at last warmly admiring eyes upon Lynette.
"I beg your pardon, Miss," he said genially.
"Now," said Standing. "About this Mexicali Joe. You go back and tell him for me...."
"No use, Timber. You got to see him. I tell you he's clean crazy to see you; he'll stick on your trail until he finds you. He wants only ten minutes; five would do it."
Lynette was mildly surprised to see Standing so easily persuaded; but she had no way of knowing the relationship of this man and his chief henchman nor how Billy Winch never took it upon himself to suggest unless he knew what he was about.
"All right," said Standing, though he frowned as he spoke. "Go get your man."
Winch jerked his head about and shouted; his long, halloing call pierced clear through the woodland silences.
"Hi, Joe! This way, on the run! _Pronto, hombre!_"
Joe came almost immediately, mounted on a scrawny mulish-looking horse, breaking an impatient way through the brush. His dark face still carried a frightened, furtive expression which had not been absent from it for a matter of days; not since a handful of raw gold had been spilled from his torn pocket.