gle to escape.
The grip tightened, cut off a gurgle of escaping air. The naked arms and
legs jerked more feebly....

When Roberts crept away into the darkness he carried with him the knife
of the Kiowa. The rifle would only have hampered him, since he had to
travel fast and light.

With every yard gained now he was nearer safety. He knew he was leaving
the camp behind. Presently he rose to his feet and traveled faster. For
the safety of the two on the island depended upon the speed with which
he covered the distance between him and Tascosa.

The plainsman seldom walks. His high-heeled boots would be torture on a
long tramp. When he wants to reach a place, he rides on horseback. Jack
had not walked five miles at a time within a dozen years. Now his long
legs reached for the ground in a steady stride that ate up the leagues.
He guided his course by the stars until he struck the river far above
the camp. Once he stopped for a drink, but the thought of Ridley on the
island drove his tired limbs on. Heel and toe, heel and toe, the steady
march continued, till the Ranger, lithe and strong though the wind and
sun and outdoor life had made him, was ready to drop with fatigue. His
feet, pushed forward in the boots by the height of the heels, burned as
with fire from the pain of outraged flesh rubbing against stiff leather.

But it was not in him to quit. He set his teeth in his exhaustion and
ploughed on up the trail. At last he saw the far, faint lights of
Tascosa. The last mile or two were interminable, but he walked into the
Bird Cage just as the clock on the wall was striking three.

The music had started for a dance. A girl in a spangled dress ran up to
him.

"Come on. Let's dance," she cried; then stopped and looked at him in
surprise: "What's the matter with you?"

The Ranger climbed up on the bar and beat upon it with the heel of his
boot. The dancers stopped in their tracks as the music died.

"The Kiowas are on the warpath. They've got two white men trapped on the
big island below the bend. Gather all the horses, guns, and men you can.
We start in twenty minutes."

Cowboys left their partners standing in the middle of the floor. The
musicians dropped their bows and fiddles. Bar-tenders left unfilled the
orders they had just taken. For Indians in their war-paint were a fact
always very near to the frontiersman, and whatever faults the Southwest
may have had in those days, its warm heart answered instantly the