on.

"Oh, rounding up the bunch," answered Raven carelessly, waving his hand
toward the valley. "Those men are coming some," he added, swinging into
his saddle.

As he spoke a rifle shot shattered the stillness of the valley. The
first of the riders threw up his hands, clutched wildly at the vacant
air and pitched headlong out of the saddle. "Good God! What's that?"
gasped Cameron. The other two wheeled in their course. Before they could
turn a second shot rang out and another of the riders fell upon his
horse's neck, clung there for a moment, then gently slid to the ground.
The third, throwing himself over the side of his pony, rode back for
dear life.

A third and a fourth shot were heard, but the fleeing rider escaped
unhurt.

"What does that mean?" again asked Cameron, weak and sick with horror.

"Mount!" yelled Raven with a terrible oath and flourishing a revolver
in his hand. "Mount quick!" His face was pale, his eyes burned with a
fierce glare, while his voice rang with the blast of a bugle.

"Lead those pack horses down that trail!" he yelled, thrusting the line
into Cameron's hand. "Quick, I tell you!"

"Crack-crack!" Twice a bullet sang savagely past Cameron's ears.

"Quicker!" shouted Raven, circling round the bunch of ponies with wild
cries and oaths like a man gone mad. Again and again the revolver spat
wickedly and here and there a pony plunged recklessly forward, nicked
in the ear by one of those venomous singing pellets. Helpless to
defend himself and expecting every moment to feel the sting of a bullet
somewhere in his body, Cameron hurried his pony with all his might down
the trail, dragging the pack animals after him. In huddled confusion the
terrified brutes followed after him in a mad rush, for hard upon their
rear, like a beast devil-possessed, Nighthawk pressed, biting, kicking,
squealing, to the accompaniment of his rider's oaths and yells and
pistol shots. Down the long sloping trail to the very end of the valley
the mad rush continued. There the ascent checked the fury of the speed
and forced a quieter pace. But through the afternoon there was no
weakening of the pressure from the rear till the evening shadows and the
frequent falling of the worn-out beasts forced a slackening of the pace
and finally a halt.

Sick with horror and loathing, Cameron dismounted and unsaddled his
broncho. He had hardly finished this operation when Little Thunder
rode up upon a strange pony, leading a bea