llow this at a fairly
rapid pace, and as he pressed on the reflection came to him that if the
agent continued as he was now headed, he could hope to come out
eventually upon the Burlington Railroad, a full seventy miles from
Sheridan. The pursuit was likely to be a long one, in this event, and
Wade was regretting that he had not left some word to explain his
absence, when he suddenly became aware of the fact that he had lost the
trail.

With an exclamation of annoyance, he rode back a hundred yards or so,
until he picked up the tracks again, when he found that they turned
sharply to the right, altogether away from the railroad. Puzzled again,
he followed it for half a mile, until convinced that Moran had
deliberately circled Crawling Water. But why? What reason could the man
have which, in a moment of desperate danger to himself, would lead him
to delay his escape? What further deviltry could he have on foot? There
was nothing to lead him in the direction he was now traveling,
unless...! Wade's heart suddenly skipped a beat and beads of cold sweat
bedewed his forehead, for Dorothy Purnell and her mother had come into
his mind. There was nothing ahead of Moran but the Double Arrow ranch!
If that were the agent's objective point, there would be nothing between
him and the women save Barker, and the "drop" of a gun might settle
that!

Never had the big black horse been spurred as cruelly as he was then,
when Wade plunged his heels into his flanks. With a snort the horse
bolted and then settled into his stride until the gentle breeze in the
rider's face became a rushing gale. But the pain which the animal had
felt was nothing to the fear which tugged at the ranchman's
heartstrings, as he reproached himself bitterly for having left only one
man at the ranch, although at the time the thought of peril to the women
had never occurred to him. With the start that Moran had, Wade reasoned
that he stood small chance of arriving in time to do any good. He could
only count upon the watchfulness and skill of Barker to protect them.

Failing that, there was but one hope, that the rider who had gone on
ahead might not be Moran after all. But presently all doubt of the man's
identity was removed from the ranchman's mind, for on the soggy turf
ahead his quick eyes caught the glitter of something bright. Sweeping
down from his saddle, he picked it up without stopping, and found that
it was a half emptied whiskey flask. Turning it over i