s feet. Annixter threw
open the window.

"Runaway," exclaimed Presley.

Annixter, with thoughts of the Railroad, and the "Jumping" of the ranch,
flung his hand to his hip pocket.

"What is it, Vacca?" he cried.

Young Vacca, turning in his seat in the carryall, was looking up the
road. All at once, he jumped from his place, and dashed towards the
window. "Dyke," he shouted. "Dyke, it's Dyke."

While the words were yet in his mouth, the sound of the hoof-beats rose
to a roar, and a great, bell-toned voice shouted:

"Annixter, Annixter, Annixter!"

It was Dyke's voice, and the next instant he shot into view in the open
square in front of the house.

"Oh, my God!" cried Presley.

The ex-engineer threw the horse on its haunches, springing from the
saddle; and, as he did so, the beast collapsed, shuddering, to the
ground. Annixter sprang from the window, and ran forward, Presley
following.

There was Dyke, hatless, his pistol in his hand, a gaunt terrible figure
the beard immeasurably long, the cheeks fallen in, the eyes sunken. His
clothes ripped and torn by weeks of flight and hiding in the chaparral,
were ragged beyond words, the boots were shreds of leather, bloody to
the ankle with furious spurring.

"Annixter," he shouted, and again, rolling his sunken eyes, "Annixter,
Annixter!"

"Here, here," cried Annixter.

The other turned, levelling his pistol.

"Give me a horse, give me a horse, quick, do you hear? Give me a horse,
or I'll shoot."

"Steady, steady. That won't do. You know me, Dyke. We're friends here."

The other lowered his weapon.

"I know, I know," he panted. "I'd forgotten. I'm unstrung, Mr. Annixter,
and I'm running for my life. They're not ten minutes behind me."

"Come on, come on," shouted Annixter, dashing stablewards, his
suspenders flying.

"Here's a horse."

"Mine?" exclaimed Presley. "He wouldn't carry you a mile."

Annixter was already far ahead, trumpeting orders.

"The buckskin," he yelled. "Get her out, Billy. Where's the stable-man?
Get out that buckskin. Get out that saddle."

Then followed minutes of furious haste, Presley, Annixter, Billy the
stable-man, and Dyke himself, darting hither and thither about the
yellow mare, buckling, strapping, cinching, their lips pale, their
fingers trembling with excitement.

"Want anything to eat?" Annixter's head was under the saddle flap as he
tore at the cinch. "Want anything to eat? Want any money? Want a gun?"

"Water