r would he leave it and try to lose his pursuers
among the maze of foothills and coulees through which it wound? Maybe he
had turned into the patch of timber and was even now breathing his horse
in the little wild flower glade. If so, her course was plain--to keep on
at top speed and lead his pursuers as far as possible along the trail.
Dimly, she could hear the thunder of hoofs in her wake. She wondered how
long it would be before they overtook her.

On and on she sped, her thoughts racing wildly as the flying feet of her
horse. "What would Win think? What would the horsemen behind her say
when at last they overtook her? Maybe they would arrest her!" The
thought terrified her, and she urged her horse to a still greater burst
of speed. Presently she became aware that the hoof beats behind had
almost died away. Fainter and fainter they sounded, and then--far ahead,
on top of a knoll silhouetted against the star-dotted sky, she saw the
figure of a horseman. Instantly it disappeared where the trail dipped
into a coulee, and with a thrill of wild exhilaration she realized that
her horse had run away from the pursuers, and not only that, he was
actually closing up on the Texan despite the boast of Ike Stork that his
animal could run rings around any others.

She topped the rise, and half way across a wide swale, caught another
glimpse of the horseman. The man pulled up, sharply. There were two
horsemen! She had almost come up to them when suddenly they crashed
together. She distinctly heard the sound of the impact. There was a
short, sharp struggle, and as the horses sprang apart, one of the
saddles was empty, and a rider thudded heavily upon the ground. Then,
faintly at first, but momentarily growing louder and more distinct, she
heard the rumble of pursuing hoofs. She glanced swiftly over her
shoulder and when she returned her eyes to the front one of the riders
was disappearing over the rim of the swale, and the other was struggling
to his feet. For only an instant the girl hesitated, then plunged
straight down the trail after the fleeing rider. As she passed the other
a perfect torrent of vile curses poured from his lips, and with a
shudder, she recognized the voice of Long Bill Kearney. The interruption
of the headlong flight had been short, but it had served to cut down
their lead perceptibly. The sounds of pursuit were plainer even than at
first and glancing over her shoulder as she reached the rim of the
swale, she