had tried to foil pursuit by turning back on
his tracks to regain the mountains east of Bonneville. Now Delaney was
almost on him. To distance that posse, was the only thing to be thought
of now. It was no longer a question of hiding till pursuit should flag;
they had driven him out from the shelter of the mountains, down into
this populous countryside, where an enemy might be met with at every
turn of the road. Now it was life or death. He would either escape or be
killed. He knew very well that he would never allow himself to be taken
alive. But he had no mind to be killed--to turn and fight--till escape
was blocked. His one thought was to leave pursuit behind.

Weeks of flight had sharpened Dyke's every sense. As he turned into the
Upper Road beyond Guadalajara, he saw the three men galloping down from
Derrick's stock range, making for the road ahead of him. They would cut
him off there. He swung the buckskin about. He must take the Lower
Road across Los Muertos from Guadalajara, and he must reach it before
Delaney's dogs and posse. Back he galloped, the buckskin measuring her
length with every leap. Once more the station came in sight. Rising in
his stirrups, he looked across the fields in the direction of the Lower
Road. There was a cloud of dust there. From a wagon? No, horses on
the run, and their riders were armed! He could catch the flash of gun
barrels. They were all closing in on him, converging on Guadalajara by
every available road. The Upper Road west of Guadalajara led straight to
Bonneville. That way was impossible. Was he in a trap? Had the time for
fighting come at last?

But as Dyke neared the depot at Guadalajara, his eye fell upon the
detached locomotive that lay quietly steaming on the up line, and with
a thrill of exultation, he remembered that he was an engineer born and
bred. Delaney's dogs were already to be heard, and the roll of hoofs on
the Lower Road was dinning in his ears, as he leaped from the buckskin
before the depot. The train crew scattered like frightened sheep before
him, but Dyke ignored them. His pistol was in his hand as, once more on
foot, he sprang toward the lone engine.

"Out of the cab," he shouted. "Both of you. Quick, or I'll kill you
both."

The two men tumbled from the iron apron of the tender as Dyke swung
himself up, dropping his pistol on the floor of the cab and reaching
with the old instinct for the familiar levers. The great compound hissed
and trembled as th