came, it found them riding westward in the direction of Deaf
Smith County. The Canon was not far south of them, but there was no need
of plunging into it yet. The pursuit must be hours behind them, even if
their trail had not been lost altogether. They rode easily, prepared to
camp at the first stream or water-hole they reached.

"We'll throw off here," Dinsmore decided at the first brook they
reached.

They unsaddled and hobbled their horses. While Gurley lighted a fire for
the coffee, the other man strolled up the creek to get a shot at any
small game he might find. Presently a brace of prairie-chickens rose
with a whir of wings. The rifle cracked, and one of them fell fluttering
to the ground. Dinsmore moved forward to pick up the bird.

Abruptly he stopped in his stride. He fancied he heard a faint cry. It
came again, carried on the light morning breeze. He could have sworn
that it was the call of a woman for help.

Dinsmore grew wary. He knew the tricks of the Indians, the wily ways
with which they lured men into ambush. There had been rumors for days
that the Indians were out again. Yet it was not like Indians to announce
their presence before they pounced upon their prey. He moved very slowly
forward under cover of the brush along the bed of the stream.

The voice came to him again, closer this time, and in spite of the
distance clear as a bell. It was surely that of a white woman in
trouble. Still he did not answer as he crept forward up the stream.

Then he caught sight of her--a girl, slim and young, stumbling forward
through the grass, exhaustion showing in every line of the body.

She stretched out her hands to him across the space between, with a
little despairing cry.

CHAPTER XXXIV

RAMONA GOES DUCK-HUNTING

"I'm going duck-hunting, Daddy," announced Ramona one evening at supper.
"Quint Sullivan is going with me. We're to get up early in the morning
and leave before daybreak."

They had been back at the ranch several weeks, and 'Mona was tired of
practicing on the piano and reading Scott's novels after her work about
the house was done. She was restless. Her father had noticed it and
wondered why. He would have been amazed to learn that the longing to see
or hear about a certain brindle-haired former line-rider of his had
anything to do with her unrest. Indeed, Ramona did not confess this even
to herself. She tried to think that she had been cooped up in the house
too long. Hence the