he rider toppled in his saddle and fell to the floor of the canyon.
His horse came to a snorting stop, reins dangling, all four legs
braced. The hoof-beats instantly were stilled. A silence, complete and
sinister, reigned in the defile.

Rathburn slipped his smoking gun into his holster and mounted
noiselessly. Then he walked his horse slowly up the canyon, sitting
sidewise in the saddle to keep a vigil on the trail behind. A minute
later he heard a volley of shots below, the signal to all the
scattered members of the posse to race to the entrance of the canyon.
He increased his pace, broke his gun, extracted the empty shell, and
inserted a fresh cartridge in its place.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE DESERT CODE

Keeping to the trail, Rathburn mounted higher and higher and spoke
continually to his horse in a crooning tone of encouragement. His face
was drawn in grim lines, his eyes were constantly alert, his very
posture in the saddle showed that his nerves were at high tension.

He ignored dim paths which occasionally led off to the left or right
in rifts in the sheer, black walls of the narrow canyon. No sound came
to him from below. He knew the posse would have to proceed with the
utmost caution, for the sheriff and his men could not be sure that
they would not encounter him at some bend in the trail. They would be
expecting shots from every boulder; for Rathburn had let them know he
had no intention of being taken easily or alive.

The afternoon wore on, with Rathburn steadily penetrating the very
heart of Imagination Range. Finally he swung out of the canyon trail
and took a dim path to the right. He dismounted and walked back to rub
off the scars left by his horse's shoes on the rock floor of the side
trail. Satisfied that he would leave the members of the posse confused
as to which side trail he had taken, he returned to his horse,
mounted, and proceeded up the narrow trail leading to the top of the
range to the south of the deep canyon.

In the western sky the sun was low when he rode down the crest of the
range. The mountains were devoid of vegetation, bleak and bare and
black. The lava rock seemed to absorb the heat of the sun and throw
it in the rider's face. But Rathburn didn't appear to mind it.

He crossed the backbone of the range and began the descent on the
eastern side. But he descended only a short distance before he swung
out of the saddle. From the slicker pack on the rear of his saddle he
to