decided Stoddard. "Come on--let's go! We've got to head
it off. It's our only hope, except--"

With relief, he shoved his automatic back into its holster and led the
way in the direction of the now rapidly nearing car.

* * * * *

A hundred yards they had made, up a slight rise, when there spread
before them a rutted mountain road, and on it, in full view, was a
laboring Ford of ancient vintage.

Over the wheel hovered a lanky, leathery native, and beside him sat a
small, plump woman who looked as though she might be his wife.

They were almost to the top of the hill when Stoddard hailed them.

"Say!" he said. "Give us a ride, will you? We're lost."

"Keep on, Henry!" he heard the woman urge. "I don't like the looks of
'em."

Americans! Well, thought Stoddard, they were in the United States,
anyway. That was something. And he didn't exactly blame the good woman
for her suspicions. They must look pretty wild, at that, with their
two-day beards and tattered clothes.

"Sorry," spoke up Henry. "Missus says no. She knows best. 'Sides, it
ain't fur to Martin's Bluff. You kin make it in an hour."

"But say, wait a minute!" They were running along beside the wheezing
car now. "We've got to get there in a hurry. We'll pay you."

Henry pricked up his ears at this, but his wife shook her head.

"Keep on!" she urged. "They may be bandits!"

* * * * *

Whereupon Stoddard drew his automatic, for there was no more time to
argue.

"Stop!" he commanded. "You'll take us, understand? I'll pay you well!"

"See, I was right!" screamed the woman. "Bandits! Bandits! Oh,
Henry--save me!"

Wildly she clung to him, as Stoddard mounted the running-board, but
before he could make another move, Professor Prescott gasped out:

"The Cossacks! Quick!"

And jumping down, he wheeled to face the two leering Russians, not
forty feet down the road. Pistols levelled, they were advancing
stolidly.

Stoddard half-raised his own weapon, then turned to see if the car was
within range of the return fire it would bring. It was--but not for
long.

With a furious chattering of bands, as Henry gave it the gas, the
decrepit vehicle gained the top of the hill and disappeared from view
down the far slope, and the last thing he saw of it was a dusty plate
flapping under its tail-light.

It was a Texas license!

Then, turning back, he lifted his automatic; but it was too late. The