," returned Dyke. "They've watched every spring. I'm killed with
thirst."

"There's the hydrant. Quick now."

"I got as far as the Kern River, but they turned me back," he said
between breaths as he drank.

"Don't stop to talk."

"My mother, and the little tad----"

"I'm taking care of them. They're stopping with me."

Here?

"You won't see 'em; by the Lord, you won't. You'll get away. Where's
that back cinch strap, BILLY? God damn it, are you going to let him be
shot before he can get away? Now, Dyke, up you go. She'll kill herself
running before they can catch you."

"God bless you, Annixter. Where's the little tad? Is she well, Annixter,
and the mother? Tell them----"

"Yes, yes, yes. All clear, Pres? Let her have her own gait, Dyke.
You're on the best horse in the county now. Let go her head, Billy. Now,
Dyke,--shake hands? You bet I will. That's all right. Yes, God bless
you. Let her go. You're OFF."

Answering the goad of the spur, and already quivering with the
excitement of the men who surrounded her, the buckskin cleared the
stable-corral in two leaps; then, gathering her legs under her, her head
low, her neck stretched out, swung into the road from out the driveway
disappearing in a blur of dust.

With the agility of a monkey, young Vacca swung himself into the
framework of the artesian well, clambering aloft to its very top. He
swept the country with a glance.

"Well?" demanded Annixter from the ground. The others cocked their heads
to listen.

"I see him; I see him!" shouted Vacca. "He's going like the devil. He's
headed for Guadalajara."

"Look back, up the road, toward the Mission. Anything there?"

The answer came down in a shout of apprehension.

"There's a party of men. Three or four--on horse-back. There's dogs with
'em. They're coming this way. Oh, I can hear the dogs. And, say, oh,
say, there's another party coming down the Lower Road, going towards
Guadalajara, too. They got guns. I can see the shine of the barrels.
And, oh, Lord, say, there's three more men on horses coming down on
the jump from the hills on the Los Muertos stock range. They're making
towards Guadalajara. And I can hear the courthouse bell in Bonneville
ringing. Say, the whole county is up."

As young Vacca slid down to the ground, two small black-and-tan hounds,
with flapping ears and lolling tongues, loped into view on the road in
front of the house. They were grey with dust, their noses were to the
ground