horse stood up straight, pawing the air, and came down with
a crash. The other horses shook with terror.

"Wasn't--thet--a cougar?" whispered Anson, thickly.

"Thet was a woman's scream," replied Wilson, and he appeared to be
shaking like a leaf in the wind.

"Then--I figgered right--the kid's alive--wonderin' around--an' she let
out thet orful scream," said Anson.

"Wonderin' 'round, yes--but she's daid!"

"My Gawd! it ain't possible!"

"Wal, if she ain't wonderin' round daid she's almost daid," replied
Wilson. And he began to whisper to himself.

"If I'd only knowed what thet deal meant I'd hev plugged Beasley instead
of listenin'.... An' I ought to hev knocked thet kid on the head an'
made sartin she'd croaked. If she goes screamin' 'round thet way--"

His voice failed as there rose a thin, splitting, high-pointed shriek,
somewhat resembling the first scream, only less wild. It came apparently
from the cliff.

From another point in the pitch-black glen rose the wailing, terrible
cry of a woman in agony. Wild, haunting, mournful wail!

Anson's horse, loosing the halter, plunged back, almost falling over a
slight depression in the rocky ground. The outlaw caught him and dragged
him nearer the fire. The other horses stood shaking and straining. Moze
ran between them and held them. Shady Jones threw green brush on the
fire. With sputter and crackle a blaze started, showing Wilson standing
tragically, his arms out, facing the black shadows.

The strange, live shriek was not repeated. But the cry, like that of
a woman in her death-throes, pierced the silence again. It left a
quivering ring that softly died away. Then the stillness clamped down
once more and the darkness seemed to thicken. The men waited, and when
they had begun to relax the cry burst out appallingly close, right
behind the trees. It was human--the personification of pain and
terror--the tremendous struggle of precious life against horrible death.
So pure, so exquisite, so wonderful was the cry that the listeners
writhed as if they saw an innocent, tender, beautiful girl torn
frightfully before their eyes. It was full of suspense; it thrilled
for death; its marvelous potency was the wild note--that beautiful and
ghastly note of self-preservation.

In sheer desperation the outlaw leader fired his gun at the black wall
whence the cry came. Then he had to fight his horse to keep him from
plunging away. Following the shot was an interval of silenc