a free
rein and felt him lengthen out to suit himself, knowing he would keep to
Black Star's course, knowing that he had been chosen by the best rider
now on the upland sage. For Jerry Card was dead. And fame had rivaled
him with only one rider, and that was the slender girl who now swung so
easily with Black Star's stride. Venters had abhorred her notoriety, but
now he took passionate pride in her skill, her daring, her power over
a horse. And he delved into his memory, recalling famous rides which he
had heard related in the villages and round the camp-fires. Oldring's
Masked Rider! Many times this strange rider, at once well known and
unknown, had escaped pursuers by matchless riding. He had to run the
gantlet of vigilantes down the main street of Stone Bridge, leaving dead
horses and dead rustlers behind. He had jumped his horse over the Gerber
Wash, a deep, wide ravine separating the fields of Glaze from the
wild sage. He had been surrounded north of Sterling; and he had broken
through the line. How often had been told the story of day stampedes,
of night raids, of pursuit, and then how the Masked Rider, swift as the
wind, was gone in the sage! A fleet, dark horse--a slender, dark form--a
black mask--a driving run down the slope--a dot on the purple sage--a
shadowy, muffled steed disappearing in the night!

And this Masked Rider of the uplands had been Elizabeth Erne!

The sweet sage wind rushed in Venters's face and sang a song in his
ears. He heard the dull, rapid beat of Night's hoofs; he saw Black Star
drawing away, farther and farther. He realized both horses were swinging
to the west. Then gunshots in the rear reminded him of Tull. Venters
looked back. Far to the side, dropping behind, trooped the riders. They
were shooting. Venters saw no puffs or dust, heard no whistling bullets.
He was out of range. When he looked back again Tull's riders had given
up pursuit. The best they could do, no doubt, had been to get near
enough to recognize who really rode the blacks. Venters saw Tull
drooping in his saddle.

Then Venters pulled Night out of his running stride. Those few miles had
scarcely warmed the black, but Venters wished to save him. Bess turned,
and, though she was far away, Venters caught the white glint of her
waving hand. He held Night to a trot and rode on, seeing Bess and Black
Star, and the sloping upward stretch of sage, and from time to time the
receding black riders behind. Soon they disappeared