away. But he
was on a mount that none could match, he was going on a trail that was
hard to follow, practically unknown. Unless he was headed off, he could
break through. At Nipple Peaks he could rest, attend to his wound.

A shout, a bullet whistling past that nicked the stallion's ear and sent
him plunging and bucking, warned him that his enemies had found the way
in and were after him. He did not look back, but bent forward in his
saddle and sunk the spurs into the black's flanks. The half-tamed
mustang's indignant bounds spoiled the aim of the marksmen, and, though
the steel-nosed missiles hummed like bees about them, they gained the
shelter of the same trees that had covered Cookie. Belly almost to
ground, the black swept over the cropped turf at racing speed, the drum
of his hooves like distant thunder, crest high, crimson-satin nostrils
flaring, mad at the sting of the red notch in his ear.

Round the elbow of the Hideout, with Brandon's men distanced, into the
gorge at the south end. A wild scramble up a steep slope and the way to
Spur Rock was clear. Plimsoll smiled grimly. "Damn them, I'll beat them
yet!" For a second he was silhouetted against a skyline, then he plunged
down. Fresh droppings told him that Reynolds had won clear. He was safe
from pursuit. If the wound--he should have cauterized it. But....

He reined in for a moment. The sound of a shout rang in his ears. It was
an echo, he fancied, it must be an echo, flung back from the mountain
walls ahead. But it could mean nothing else than a view-halloo. Some one
had glimpsed him disappearing beyond the ridge.

CHAPTER XX

MOLLY MINE

Sandy, replacing the blanket on Wyatt's face, examined his guns and
started climbing up to the big boulder. He could not see the rocks
displaced by Brandon's men from below, but he picked up the bloody
imprint of Grit's pad, with other smears of blood less distinctly
marked. Soon he discovered the narrow opening and proceeded cautiously.
The moon was quite bright now and the daylight almost vanished. Only the
afterglow still flamed in the eastern sky back of the violet cliffs. The
touch of night chill was already threatening, great stars were
assembling court about the moon.

To Sandy's right was perpendicular rock, to his left the curve of the
blocking boulder with the skeleton tree topping it, withered in the
cleft that had first nourished, then denied it nourishment. It gleamed
silver gray, attracting hi