r,
headed by Hale, Logan, and the Infant of the Guard. Where the road
forked, a woman with a child in her arms said she had seen a tall,
black-eyed man with a black moustache gallop up the right fork. She no
more knew who he was than any of the pursuers. Three miles up that fork
they came upon a red-headed man leading his horse from a mountaineer's
yard.

"He went up the mountain," the red-haired man said, pointing to
the trail of the Lonesome Pine. "He's gone over the line. Whut's he
done--killed somebody?"

"Yes," said Hale shortly, starting up his horse.

"I wish I'd a-knowed you was atter him. I'm sheriff over thar."

Now they were without warrant or requisition, and Hale, pulling in, said
sharply:

"We want that fellow. He killed a man at the Gap. If we catch him over
the line, we want you to hold him for us. Come along!" The red-headed
sheriff sprang on his horse and grinned eagerly:

"I'm your man."

"Who was that fellow?" asked Hale as they galloped. The sheriff denied
knowledge with a shake of his head.

"What's your name?" The sheriff looked sharply at him for the effect of
his answer.

"Jim Falin." And Hale looked sharply back at him. He was one of the
Falins who long, long ago had gone to the Gap for young Dave Tolliver,
and now the Falin grinned at Hale.

"I know you--all right." No wonder the Falin chuckled at this
Heaven-born chance to get a Tolliver into trouble.

At the Lonesome Pine the traces of the fugitive's horse swerved along
the mountain top--the shoe of the right forefoot being broken in half.
That swerve was a blind and the sheriff knew it, but he knew where Rufe
Tolliver would go and that there would be plenty of time to get him.
Moreover, he had a purpose of his own and a secret fear that it might be
thwarted, so, without a word, he followed the trail till darkness hid
it and they had to wait until the moon rose. Then as they started again,
the sheriff said:

"Wait a minute," and plunged down the mountain side on foot. A few
minutes later he hallooed for Hale, and down there showed him the tracks
doubling backward along a foot-path.

"Regular rabbit, ain't he?" chuckled the sheriff, and back they went to
the trail again on which two hundred yards below the Pine they saw the
tracks pointing again to Lonesome Cove.

On down the trail they went, and at the top of the spur that overlooked
Lonesome Cove, the Falin sheriff pulled in suddenly and got off his
horse. There the trac