ound and crawled to the top of the hill. What he saw was a dozen
mounted men swinging down into the low, broad scoop of ground beyond the
hill. They raced with their hatbrims standing stiff up in the wind.

"They've been watchin' us with glasses!" whispered Dan to Bart, and the
wolf-dog snarled savagely, his neck-fur ruffling up.

The dozen directly in front were not all, for to the right, bearing
straight across his original course, came another group almost as
strong, and to the left eight more riders spurred at top speed.

"We almost walked into 'em," said Barry, "but they ain't got us yet.
Back, boy!"

The wolf dog slunk down the hill until it was out of sight from the
farther side of the slope, and the master imitated these tactics until
he was close to Satan. Once in the saddle he made up his mind quickly.
Someone in Rickett had guessed his intention to double back toward
Tucker Creek, and they had cut him off cleverly enough and in
overwhelming force. However, no one in Rickett could guess that another
way out remained for him in the fords below Caswell City, and even if
they knew, their knowledge would do them no good. They could not wing a
message to that place to head him off; it was not humanly possible.
For Dan knew nothing of the telephone lines which brought Caswell City
itself within speaking distance of far away Rickett. Caswell City, then,
was his goal, but to get toward it he must circle far back toward the
Morgan Hills, back almost into the teeth of the posse in order to skirt
around the right wing of these new enemies. Even then, to double that
flank, he must send Satan ahead at full speed. As he swung around, the
eight men of that end party crashed over the hill five hundred yards
away, and their yell at the view of the quarry went echoing up the
shallow valley.

The slayer of Pete Glass, he who had done the notorious Killing at
Alder, was almost in touch of their revolvers--and their horses were
fresh. Not one of that eight but would have given odds on his chances of
sharing the capture money. There were no spurs on the heels of Barry to
urge Satan, and no quirt in his hand, but a single word sent the black
streaking down the hill.

Going into the Morgan Hills he had gone like the wind, but now he rushed
like a thoroughbred standing a challenge in the homestretch. His nose,
and his flying tail were a straight line and the flash of his legs was
a tangle which no eye could follow as he shot eas