, the "rope" without which no cowman ever stirs abroad, but which
Senor Johnson had rarely used of late. Senor Johnson threw the reins
over, seized the pony's mane in his left hand, held the pommel with his
right, and so swung easily aboard, the pony's jump helping him to the
saddle. Wheel tracks led down the trail. He followed them.

Truth to tell, Senor Johnson had very little idea of what he was going
to do. His action was entirely instinctive. The wheel tracks held to
the southwest so he held to the southwest, too.

The pony hit his stride. The miles slipped by. After seven of them
the animal slowed to a walk. Senor Johnson allowed him to get his
wind, then spurred him on again. He did not even take the ordinary
precautions of a pursuer. He did not even glance to the horizon in
search.

About supper-time he came to the first ranch house. There he took a
bite to eat and exchanged his horse for another, a favourite of his,
named Button. The two men asked no questions.

"See Mrs. Johnson go through?" asked the Senor from the saddle.

"Yes, about three o'clock. Brent Palmer driving her. Bound for
Willets to visit the preacher's wife, she said. Ought to catch up at
the Circle I. That's where they'd all spend the night, of course. So
long."

Senor Johnson knew now the couple would follow the straight road. They
would fear no pursuit. He himself was supposed not to return for a
week, and the story of visiting the minister's wife was not only
plausible, it was natural. Jed had upset calculations, because Jed was
shrewd, and had eyes in his head. Buck Johnson's first mental numbness
was wearing away; he was beginning to think.

The night was very still and very dark, the stars very bright in their
candle-like glow. The man, loping steadily on through the darkness,
recalled that other night, equally still, equally dark, equally starry,
when he had driven out from his accustomed life into the unknown with a
woman by his side, the sight of whom asleep had made him feel "almost
holy." He uttered a short laugh.

The pony was a good one, well equal to twice the distance he would be
called upon to cover this night. Senor Johnson managed him well. By
long experience and a natural instinct he knew just how hard to push
his mount, just how to keep inside the point where too rapid exhaustion
of vitality begins.

Toward the hour of sunrise he drew rein to look about him. The desert,
till now wrapped