. That's Paso Cabras, the Pass of the Goats. Some says
it's named 'cause the cliffs is fair lousy with goats, some 'cause on'y
a goat can make the climb. County line's five mile' out on the plain
beyond the pass. Railroad two mo', at Caroca."

"Are we goin' through the pass?" she asked Sandy.

"Well, I'll tell you this much, Molly. If we sh'ud decide to go that way
an' strike the pass afore the sheriff catches up with us, he'll have to
foller afoot or go clean round the mesa. The Goat's Pass ain't no place
fo' an automobeel, nor an airyplane neither. Don't believe there's a
level spot wider'n five foot or bigger than that much square."

Either Mormon or Sam sat always with neck twisted, watching for a
flash-signal from the butte that stood up clearly in the crystal
atmosphere, sometimes distorted, changing hue from chocolate to indigo,
never seeming to get any farther away, just as the mesa range never
seemed to get any closer. Sometimes Molly relieved them as lookout, but
hour after hour passed without sign.

Close to noon they reached a watering hole, with water none too cool or
sweet, but still welcome. There the buckskins were unhitched, rubbed
down and, after they had cooled off, given water and grain. Save for
sweat marks, they showed little sign of the grueling trip through the
soft dirt. A strip of lava, half a mile of ancient flow, lay between
them and the long up-slope of the desert to the mesa. As they ate lunch
in the shadow of some barrel cactus, Sandy suddenly gave a grunt of
satisfaction, pointing with outstretched forefinger to the butte. Five
flashes had flickered up. They were repeated. Jim had signaled a
suspicious party on their way to Three Star. The sheriff was out with
his papers.

"We got five hours' staht," said Sandy. "Made close to thirty mile'.
They've got thirty-five to make. Take 'em mo'n two hours, countin'
questions with Buck. Good enough. See anything of the boys, Sam? They
ought to be showin' up. I told 'em noon."

"On time," announced Sam. The two riders who had last talked with Sandy
rode out of a straggling thicket of cactus and skirted the lava flow.
Each led a spare horse, unsaddled.

CHAPTER VII

BOLSA GAP

Sheriff Jordan had a high-powered car purchased, not so much from the
fees of his office as with his perquisites, a word covering a wide range
of possibilities, all of which the sheriff made the most of. He was
proud of his car and proud of his ability to run