ollow beyond--he would be a scant hundred yards away when Alcatraz
raced by, if indeed he could keep beyond reach of the wolf as long as
this. And that was more than doubtful--impossible! For the grey streak
had shot from behind until it now was at his tail, at his flank, with
red tongue lolling and the sound of its panting audible. Half a minute
more and it would be in front and heading him, and when he whirled the
creature would spring.

And so it happened. The killer swept to the front and snapped--at
the flash of the teeth Alcatraz wheeled, saw the monster leave the
ground--and then a limp weight struck his shoulder and rolled heavily
back to the ground; but not until he had straightened away on his new
course did Alcatraz hear the report of the rifle, so much had the
bullet outdistanced the sound.

He looked back.

Red Perris sat in his saddle with the rifle coming slowly down from
his shoulder. The lofer wolf lay with a smear of red across one side
of his head. Then a hill rose behind the stallion and shut off his
view.

He brought down his gait to a stumbling canter for now a great
weakness was pouring through his legs and his heart fluttered and
trembled like the heart of a yearling when it first feels the strain
and burn of the rope. He was saved, but by how small a margin! He was
saved, but in his mind grew another problem. Why had the Great Enemy
chosen to kill the wolf and spare the horse? And how great was his
greatness who could strike down from afar that king of flesh-eaters in
the very moment of a kill! But he knew, very clearly, that he had been
in the hollow of the man's hand and had been spared; and that he had
been rescued from certain death; was not the scent of the wolf's pelt
still in his nostrils as the creature had leaped?

He came to the brook and snorted in wonder. In a sane moment he would
never have attempted that leap. For that matter, perhaps, no other
horse between the seas would have ever dreamed of the effort. Alcatraz
headed up the stream for a narrow place, shaking his head at the roar
of the current.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE CRISIS

When he found a place where he could jump the Little Smoky he picked
up his mares again and led them straight north, accepting their
whinnies of congratulation with a careless toss of his head as though
only women-folk would bother to think of such small matters. He had a
definite purpose, now. He had had enough of the Valley of the Eagles
with