ff the raider.
Diablo was in his stride, but the distance and angle favored Sol. The
raider had no carbine. He held aloft a gun ready to level it and fire.
He sat the saddle as if it were a stationary seat. Gale saw Ladd lean
down and drop the .405 in the sand. He would take no chances of
wounding Belding's best-loved horse.

Then Gale sat transfixed with suspended breath watching the horses
thundering toward him. Blanco Diablo was speeding low, fleet as an
antelope, fierce and terrible in his devilish action, a horse for war
and blood and death. He seemed unbeatable. Yet to see the
magnificently running Blanco Sol was but to court a doubt. Gale stood
spellbound. He might have shot the raider; but he never thought of
such a thing. The distance swiftly lessened. Plain it was the raider
could not make the opening ahead of Ladd. He saw it and swerved to the
left, emptying his six-shooter as he turned. His dark face gleamed as
he flashed by Gale.

Blanco Sol thundered across. Then the race became straight away up the
valley. Diablo was cold and Sol was hot; therein lay the only handicap
and vantage. It was a fleet, beautiful, magnificent race. Gale
thrilled and exulted and yelled as his horse settled into a steadily
swifter run and began to gain. The dust rolled in a funnel-shaped
cloud from the flying hoofs. The raider wheeled with gun puffing
white, and Ladd ducked low over the neck of his horse.

The gap between Diablo and Sol narrowed yard by yard. At first it had
been a wide one. The raider beat his mount and spurred, beat and
spurred, wheeled round to shoot, then bent forward again. In his circle
at the upper end of the valley he turned far short of the jumble of
rocks.

All the devil that was in Blanco Diablo had its running on the downward
stretch. The strange, cruel urge of bit and spur, the crazed rider who
stuck like a burr upon him, the shots and smoke added terror to his
natural violent temper. He ran himself off his feet. But he could not
elude that relentless horse behind him. The running of Blanco Sol was
that of a sure, remorseless driving power--steadier--stronger--swifter
with every long and wonderful stride.

The raider tried to sheer Diablo off closer under the wall, to make the
slope where his companion had escaped. But Diablo was uncontrollable.
He was running wild, with breaking gait. Closer and closer crept that
white, smoothly gliding, beautiful machine of speed.

Th