re of a man. They gazed a
long moment, when the figure dropped from view again. They continued to
gaze, silent, rigid, watchful, peering narrowly against the morning
sunlight. Presently the figure reappeared, lower against the gray
background, moving slowly as before, evidently crouching. Lower it came,
quarter down the slope, half-way, then again disappeared. Johnson broke
the tense silence.

"Sheepherder!" he snapped, and turned savage eyes back upon Jim.

But Glover leaped to his feet. "If that's a sheepherder," he cried,
making for the horses at a run, "then I'm a sheep!"

CHAPTER XVII

A RUNNING FIGHT

A rifle-shot forced instant action. Jim whirled away from the camp-fire
and saddle-bags and sprang toward the horses, while Johnson, leaping up
with the agile twist of an athlete, gained his feet running. Jim headed
grimly for Pat, but Johnson reached him a breath in advance. Snatching
up the reins and mounting, he dug Pat viciously with his huge rowels. At
that Pat balked. The man swore and cursed and spurred again; but the
horse remained obdurate. Seeing this, Johnson stopped spurring.
Thereupon Pat flung forward, dragging his tether clear of its stake, and
crowded close beside the gray. Jim was mounted on the gray, bending low
in the saddle, racing in frantic pursuit of Glover. Mounted on the
sorrel, Glover was well in the lead, speeding straight into the west,
riding at right angles to the ridge, galloping hard for the open desert.
The echo of the shot reverberated again faintly, and around them closed
a tense silence.

Others were making for the open. Out of the underbrush, riding easily,
burst a handful of rangers. Stephen was one of them. As they swept into
the clear country, well-armed, well-mounted, the look on their strong,
bronzed faces told of their purpose, which was to get the thieves alive,
if possible. Down the long slope they galloped, hats low against the
sunlight, elbows winging slightly, heads and backs slanting to the
winds, speeding like a group of centaurs. Other than Stephen, there were
four of these range police. Men of insight, of experience, keen in the
ways of the lawless, knowing best of all the type ahead, they rode
without strain, without urging, knowing that this was a long race, a
matter of endurance, a test, not for themselves so much as for the
horses, those of the pursued as well as their own. Loosely scattered,
they rode, eyes not upon the thieves, but upon the hors