or loping; all were moving on a
walk.

The noise was so clear that when he rose to his feet and looked off to
the right he expected to see the animals and their riders, and he was
not disappointed.

On the outer margin of the field of vision the outlines of several
horsemen assumed shape. They were approaching, and one of their steeds
emitted a whinny, as a salutation to the motionless Queenie, who had
shifted her pose so as to face that point of the compass.

"Sh!" whispered Sterry to her.

But there was no call for the warning; she was too well trained to
betray her master, and remained mute.

But it was inevitable that if the young man could discern the figures
of the approaching horsemen, they must also see him. He leaped into
the saddle and turned away.

He knew instinctively they were rustlers, and he was almost equally
certain they were hunting for him. There were at least three; and,
well aware of their character, he was only prudent in shying off, with
the intention of avoiding them altogether.

But they were not the men to be bluffed in that fashion. They were
"out" for the inspector, and did not intend that such an opportunity
should slip by unchallenged.

"Hello, pard!" called one of the trio, "where from and where going?"

This was a pointed demand, to which Mont Sterry made an equally
pointed response.

"That is my own business; I will attend to it, and you may attend to
yours."

All this time he was keeping watch of their movements. Their horses
were still walking, but they were now coming straight toward him. At a
touch of the rein Queenie headed directly away, and her gait was about
the same. She acted as though she shared the thoughts of her master,
who shrank from sending her off on a flying run, as would have been
more prudent for him to do.

A brave man dislikes to flee, even when his better judgment tells him
it is the only wise thing to do.

The night was so still that Sterry plainly heard the words of the men
when talking to each other in an ordinary conversational tone.

"I believe that's him," said one of them, eagerly.

"It sounded like his voice, but he wouldn't leave the Whitneys at this
time of night when she's there."

"He's too free with his tongue, anyway; we'll make him show up."

"Say, you! hold on a minute. Do you know anything about Mont Sterry?
We're looking for him."

"I am Mont Sterry," was the defiant response. "What do you propose to
do about it?"