ted from the main body and raced along
the left-hand ridge. Another file of copper-brown, half-naked savages
drummed along to the right.

Rifle fire crackled and flashed. Bullets now began to buzz and whine
like infuriated insects. Arrows, falling far short, whistled an angry
tune. The Kid held his fire and bade Dave Robbins follow his example.
It was no time to waste lead.

"Go, Blizzahd, like yo' nevah went befo'!" cried the Texan.

The beautiful white horse seemed to realize its master's danger. It
ran on courage alone. Its nostrils were expanded wide, its flanks and
neck foam-flecked. The steel muscles rippled under its snowy hide,
until it seemed to fly like a winged thing. But it is one thing to
carry a hundred and sixty pounds; another thing to bear nearly three
hundred. The pace could not last.

Kid Wolf pinned his hopes on reaching a deep arroyo ahead of them.
Already the range was becoming deadly. A bullet ripped through the
Texan's hat. Another burned his side. Directly behind them, Garvey
and his gunmen--the two Arnolds, Henry Shank, and Stephenson--pounded
furiously, gaining at every jump. Their mounts were better than those
of the Indians, and Kid Wolf saw that they must be stopped at all costs.

For the first time, his guns belched flame. The two Arnolds went down,
unhorsed. Even in that desperate moment, Kid Wolf hesitated to kill
until it was necessary. The Arnolds, however, were out of the chase
for good and all. Stephenson also felt the crippling sting of the
Texan's lead and toppled from his mount, drilled high in the shoulder.

Henry Shank and Gil Garvey, shaken at The Kid's marksmanship, drew in
their horses, unwilling to press closer. That gave Blizzard his chance
to make the shelter of the arroyo. Suddenly it yawned at their feet--a
terrific jump. Would Blizzard take it? A reassuring pressure of a
knee was all the inspiration the horse needed. They seemed to rush
through the air. Then they were sliding down the bank in a cloud of
dust, Blizzard tense and stiff-legged. By a miracle, they reached the
bottom unhurt, and without losing a second, Kid Wolf headed his
faithful mount into a thick paloverde clump.

"We'll have to stand 'em off heah," he panted.

The Texan's eyes surveyed his exhausted horse. They seemed to light
with an idea. Even in that desperate plight, his mind worked rapidly.

"I've got a hunch, Dave," he said. "It may not help us, but----"

He q