is word, and his gun was emptied and
reloaded and emptied again, it was a hopeless contest--hopeless from
the beginning. Tresler was bleeding seriously from a wound in his
neck, and his aim was becoming more and more uncertain. But his will
was fighting hard for mastery over his bodily weakness. Just as they
headed again toward the bluff, Arizona gave a great yank at his reins
and his pony was thrown upon its haunches. The Lady Jezebel, too, as
though working in concert with her mate, suddenly stopped dead.

The cause of the cowpuncher's action was a solitary horseman standing
right ahead of them gazing out at the bluff. The plainsman's gun was
up in an instant, in spite of the pursuers behind. Death was in his
eye as he took aim, but at that instant there was a shout from the
bluff, and the cry was taken up behind him--"Sheriff's posse!" That
cry lost him his chance of fetching Red Mask down. Before he could let
the hammer of his gun fall, the horseman had wheeled about and
vanished in the darkness.

Simultaneously the pursuers swung out, turned, and the next moment
were in full retreat under a perfect hail of carbine-fire from the
sheriff's men.

And as the latter followed in hot pursuit, Arizona hailed them--

"You've missed him; he's taken the river-bank for it. It's Red Mask! I
see him."

But now Tresler needed all his friend's attention. Arizona saw him
fall forward and lie clinging to his saddle-horn. He sprang to his
aid, and, dismounting, lifted him gently to the ground. Then he turned
his own horse loose, leading the Lady Jezebel while he supported the
sick man up to the shack.

Here his patient fainted dead away, but he was equal to the emergency.
He examined the wound, and found an ugly rent in the neck, whence the
blood was pumping slowly. He saw at once that a small artery had been
severed, and its adjacency to the jugular made it a matter of extreme
danger. His medical skill was small, but he contrived to wash and bind
the wound roughly. Then he quietly reloaded his guns, and, with the
aid of a stiff horn of whisky, roused some life in his patient. He
knew it would only be a feeble flicker, but while it lasted he wanted
to get him on to the Lady Jezebel's back.

This he contrived after considerable difficulty. The mare resented the
double burden, as was only to be expected. But the cowpuncher was
desperate and knew how to handle her.

None but Arizona would have attempted such a feat with a hors