adlong over his tumbling horse. He turned to the front again,
and, understanding what would follow, whipped and spurred furiously.
Suddenly the answer came. The desert awoke in a fusillade of shots, and
Jim saw Glover, who once more was in the lead, drift out of his saddle,
slip down much as a child descends from its high-chair, and fall to
earth in a crumpled heap. He swerved and dashed alongside. For an
instant he drew rein and studied the still face. Then he lifted his
eyes, gazing off absently toward the distant skyline, the mellow haze in
the hills, the shimmering of heat-waves above the dunes, the glistening
reflections of light off myriads of tiny sand cubes. Glover--poor
Glover--had paid the price, and had paid it in silence.

He wheeled his horse and sped after Johnson. He overtook him swinging up
over a slight elevation. Dead ahead, not more than two miles distant, he
saw a long grove of trees. It gave him hope. Here was a chance for
effective resistance. Here both he and Johnson could dismount, drive the
horses into shelter, seek shelter themselves, and open fire upon the
posse. His spirits kindled. He would shoot to kill, as he knew Johnson
would shoot to kill, and then, with the rangers helplessly disabled, he
would mount Pat, mount the black this time, and if Johnson became ugly
he would shoot him. Then he would ride to the east, ride out of this
life, and with the horse take up a decent existence somewhere,
abandoning crime forever. He would--

More shots from the rear interrupted him. Evidently the rangers,
mounting over the rise themselves, had also caught sight of the grove.
Evidently, too, they were taking no chances against such a stand as he
was contemplating. At any rate, the firing became rapid and continuous,
and it was deadly, for suddenly he saw Johnson wilt in the saddle, drop
his revolver, drop the reins, and clutch at his left arm. Also he heard
a cry--heard it sharp and clear above the pounding of the gray's hoofs
and the creak and crunch of his own saddle-leather.

"I'm hit! I'm hit, boy! They--they've got me!" Pat himself heard the
outcry and felt the loosened rein. It puzzled him. He did not know
whether to keep going or to slacken down. But he kept on going--going
hard. Yet he would have welcomed a halt. He was weak and faint. He could
not remember the time, save that memorable day on the mesa, when he had
run so hard and so continuously. Yet ahead lay trees, and instinctively
he acce