es carrying the
thieves, as if hopeful for another break like that shown at the start by
the magnificent black.

Thus rode the rangers. Not so Stephen. Stephen knew no such laws. All he
knew was that after long weeks of futile riding, here at last was
Helen's Pat galloping madly away from him. Lashing and spurring his own
bay mare, resolute and determined, he gradually began to pull away from
the others.

Ahead, Johnson began slowly to gather in his trailing tether-rope.
Almost without visible effort he wound it around his saddle-horn.
Whereupon Jim, evidently aroused to like danger of tripping, set to work
at the loop around the little gray's neck. The knot was tight, and his
position cramped, but he persisted, and, with it loose, tossed the rope
away. Glover already was free from his trailing rope, having taken the
time at the outset hurriedly to cast it off. And he was still in the
lead, the sorrel carrying him without seeming effort, and moving
steadily away from the others, each long stride gaining half as much
ground again as the swinging gait of Pat or the quick and nervous
reaching of the little gray. But all were moving at top speed, racing
desperately across the desert, leaping sand-dunes, dipping into hollows,
mounting eagerly over larger dunes, on and on like the wind, sending up
with each fling of hoof swirling clouds of dust and gravel. It was a
grim effort.

Such a time comes to but few men. And such a crisis tests the mettle of
men and shows the differences. Gripped in a primal emotion, fear for
life, weak men show strength, and strong men weakness. Harmless men
murder, murderous men weep, blasphemous men pray, praying men curse. Yet
under such a stress strong men often reveal greater strength, rising to
physical and spiritual heights of reserve that mock a following fate,
even as praying men often pray harder and more fervently than ever they
prayed in times of calm. Individual in peace, mankind is individual in
war. It is the way of man.

And thus it was with these three hurtling forward in the shadow of doom.
Glover, ever weak, ever apprehensive, yet always considerate of others,
now revealed unexpected strength and appeared considerate only of
himself. Crouching in his saddle, apparently mindful of but a single
thing--escape--he lashed his horse brutally, swinging his quirt
rhythmically, now and again darting cold eyes backward. Johnson, given
by nature to bravado and bluster, was even more defi