tretched into an interminable distance. The trail lay straight
and clear; there was no sign of a horse and rider on it. Taggart had
not come in this direction, though in this direction lay the Arrow.

He wheeled Blackleg and, with glowering eyes and straightened lips,
rode him back the way he had come, halting often and peering into
shadows. By the time he arrived at the spot where he had first seen
the horse and rider he had become convinced that Taggart had secreted
himself until he had passed him and had then ridden over the back
trail, later to return to the Arrow by a circuitous route.

Calumet determined to cut across the country and intercept him, and he
drove the spurs into Blackleg and raced him through the wood. His
trail took him into a section which led to the slope which the horses
drawing the wagon had taken on the night of the ambush. He was tearing
through this when he broke through the edge of a clearing about a
quarter of a mile from the ranchhouse. At about the center of the
clearing Blackleg came to a jarring, dizzying stop, rearing high on his
hind legs. When he came down he whinnied and backed, and, peering over
his shoulder to see what had frightened him, Calumet saw the body of a
man lying at the edge of a mesquite clump.

With his six-shooter in hand, Calumet dismounted and walked to the man.
The latter was prone in the dust, on his face, and as Calumet leaned
over him the better to peer into his face--for he thought the man might
be Taggart--he heard a groan escape his lips. Sheathing his weapon,
Calumet turned the man over on his back. Another groan escaped him;
his eyes opened, though they closed again immediately. It was not
Taggart.

"Got me," he said. He groaned again.

"Who got you?" Calumet bent over to catch the reply. None came; the
man had lost consciousness.

Calumet stood up and looked around. He could see nothing of the rider
for whom he was searching. He could not leave this wounded man to
pursue his search for Taggart; there might be something he could do for
the man.

But he left the man's side for an instant while he looked around him.
Some dense undergrowth rose on his right, black shadows surrounding it,
and he walked along its edge, his forty-five in hand, trying to peer
into it. He saw nothing, heard nothing. Then, catching another groan
from the man, he returned to him. The man's eyes were open; they
gleamed brightly and wildly.

"Got me," he sai