ull's rage would be when he
finally discovered the trick. Venters meant to sheer out into the sage
before Tull could possibly be sure who rode the blacks.

The gap closed to a distance to half a mile. Tull halted. His riders
came up and formed a dark group around him. Venters thought he saw him
wave his arms and was certain of it when the riders dashed into the
sage, to right and left of the trail. Tull had anticipated just the move
held in mind by Venters.

"Now Bess!" shouted Venters. "Strike north. Go round those riders and
turn west."

Black Star sailed over the low sage, and in a few leaps got into his
stride and was running. Venters spurred Night after him. It was hard
going in the sage. The horses could run as well there, but keen eyesight
and judgment must constantly be used by the riders in choosing ground.
And continuous swerving from aisle to aisle between the brush, and
leaping little washes and mounds of the pack-rats, and breaking through
sage, made rough riding. When Venters had turned into a long aisle he
had time to look up at Tull's riders. They were now strung out into an
extended line riding northeast. And, as Venters and Bess were holding
due north, this meant, if the horses of Tull and his riders had the
speed and the staying power, they would head the blacks and turn them
back down the slope. Tull's men were not saving their mounts; they were
driving them desperately. Venters feared only an accident to Black Star
or Night, and skilful riding would mitigate possibility of that. One
glance ahead served to show him that Bess could pick a course through
the sage as well as he. She looked neither back nor at the running
riders, and bent forward over Black Star's neck and studied the ground
ahead.

It struck Venters, presently, after he had glanced up from time to time,
that Bess was drawing away from him as he had expected. He had, however,
only thought of the light weight Black Star was carrying and of his
superior speed; he saw now that the black was being ridden as never
before, except when Jerry Card lost the race to Wrangle. How easily,
gracefully, naturally, Bess sat her saddle! She could ride! Suddenly
Venters remembered she had said she could ride. But he had not dreamed
she was capable of such superb horsemanship. Then all at once, flashing
over him, thrilling him, came the recollection that Bess was Oldring's
Masked Rider.

He forgot Tull--the running riders--the race. He let Night have