sound with start or whinney. The black lay perfectly still,
and instead of lifting up to answer or to look, the head lowered with
ears flat back until the long, outstretched neck gave the animal a snaky
appearance. The dog, too, though it showed murderous fangs whenever Vic
moved, did not stir from his place, but lay flattening into the ground.

"Cut to the right! Cut to the right, Harry!" came the voice of the
sheriff, already piping from the distance as the last of the posse
brushed out from the trees. "Yo hoi! Gus, take the left arroyo!"

Two answering yells, and then the rush of hoofs fell away. They were
cornering the stranger, no doubt, and Vic struggled to lift himself to
his feet and watch until a faint sound from the dog made him look down.
Bart lay with his haunches drawn up under him, his forepaws digging
into the soft loam, his eyes demoniac. Instinctively Vic reached for his
absent gun, and then, despairing, relaxed to his former position. The
wolf-dog lowered his head to his paws and there remained with the eyes
following each intake of Gregg's breath. A rattle of gunshots flung back
loosely from the hills, and among them Vic winced at the sound of the
sheriff's rifle, clear and ringing over the bark of the revolvers.

Had they nailed the stranger? The firing recommenced, more faintly and
prolonged, so that it was plain the posse maintained a running fusilade
after the fugitive. After that fear of his own growing weakness shut
out all else from the mind of Gregg as he felt his senses, his physical
strength, flowing out like an ebb tide to a sea which, he knew, was
death. He began to work desperately to bind up the wound and stop the
flow of blood and it was fear which gave him momentary strength to tear
away his shirt and then with his teeth and left hand rip it into strips.
After that, heedless of the pain, he constructed a rude bandage, very
clumsily, for he had to work over his shoulder. Here his teeth, once
more, were almost as useful as another hand, and as the bandage grew
tight the deadly, warm trickle along his side lessened and his fingers
fell away from the last knot. He fainted.

Chapter VII. Joan Disobeys

What he next knew was a fire of agony that wrapped his whole body and
consciousness flashed back on him. Strong arms lifted him up, up; above
him he sensed the eyes of his torturer, dim in moonlight, and he beat
his clubbed left fist into that face. After that he knew he was being
dr