that led to them was barred for him. He would have to try to reach
Glenwood or Rifle. From there he could perhaps catch a freight east or
west. His one chance was to get clear out of the country. After this
day's work it would be too small to hold him.

Nothing had come out as he had planned it. The farthest thing from his
hopes had been that he would have to fight his way out. He had not killed
that fool Dillon of set purpose. He knew now that if his anger had not
blazed out he might have made his getaway and left the fellow alive. But
he had been given no time to think. It was a bad break of the luck. The
White River settlers would not forgive him that. They would remember that
Dillon had saved him from the Indians in the Ute campaign, and they would
reason--the thickheaded idiots--that the least he could have done was to
let the boy go.

He plunged through the sand of the sage hills at a gait that was half a
run and half a walk. In his high-heeled boots fast travel was difficult.
The footgear of the cattleman is not made for walking. The hill riders do
most of their travel in a saddle. Houck's feet hurt. His toes were driven
forward in the boots until each step became torture. From his heels the
skin peeled from sliding up and down against the hard leather.

But he dared not stop. Already he could hear the pursuers. In the still
night there came to him the shout of one calling to another, the ring of
a horse's hoof striking on a stone. They were combing the mesa behind
him.

Houck stumbled forward. Vaguely there rose before him a boulder-strewn
slope that marked the limit of the valley. Up this he scrambled in a
desperate hurry to reach the rocks. For the pursuit was almost upon him
now.

Two outcroppings of sandstone barred the way. They leaned against each
other, leaving a small cave beneath. Into this Houck crawled on hands and
knees.

He lay crouched there, weapon in hand, like a cornered wolf, while the
riders swept up and past. He knew one palpitating moment when he thought
himself about to be discovered. Two of the posse stopped close to his
hiding-place.

"Must be close to him," one said. "Got the makin's, Jim?"

"Sure." Evidently the tobacco pouch was passed from one to the other.
"Right in these rocks somewhere, I shouldn't wonder."

"Mebbeso. Mebbe still hot-footin' it for the hills. He's in one heluva
hurry if you ask me."

"Killed Bob Dillon in the park, I heard."

"If he did he'll sure h