s
did not resort to the hurry that had characterized his former trip.
He camped at the last water in the Pass. What distance that was to
Cottonwoods he did not know; he calculated, however, that it was in the
neighborhood of fifty miles.

Early in the morning he proceeded on his way, and about the middle of
the forenoon reached the constricted gap that marked the southerly end
of the Pass, and through which led the trail up to the sage-level. He
spied out Lassiter's tracks in the dust, but no others, and dismounting,
he straightened out Wrangle's bridle and began to lead him up the trail.
The short climb, more severe on beast than on man, necessitated a rest
on the level above, and during this he scanned the wide purple reaches
of slope.

Wrangle whistled his pleasure at the smell of the sage. Remounting,
Venters headed up the white trail with the fragrant wind in his face. He
had proceeded for perhaps a couple of miles when Wrangle stopped with a
suddenness that threw Venters heavily against the pommel.

"What's wrong, old boy?" called Venters, looking down for a loose shoe
or a snake or a foot lamed by a picked-up stone. Unrewarded, he raised
himself from his scrutiny. Wrangle stood stiff head high, with his
long ears erect. Thus guided, Venters swiftly gazed ahead to make out a
dust-clouded, dark group of horsemen riding down the slope. If they had
seen him, it apparently made no difference in their speed or direction.

"Wonder who they are!" exclaimed Venters. He was not disposed to run.
His cool mood tightened under grip of excitement as he reflected that,
whoever the approaching riders were, they could not be friends. He
slipped out of the saddle and led Wrangle behind the tallest sage-brush.
It might serve to conceal them until the riders were close enough for
him to see who they were; after that he would be indifferent to how soon
they discovered him.

After looking to his rifle and ascertaining that it was in working
order, he watched, and as he watched, slowly the force of a bitter
fierceness, long dormant, gathered ready to flame into life. If those
riders were not rustlers he had forgotten how rustlers looked and rode.
On they came, a small group, so compact and dark that he could not tell
their number. How unusual that their horses did not see Wrangle! But
such failure, Venters decided, was owing to the speed with which they
were traveling. They moved at a swift canter affected more by rustlers
than b