up like fairy stuff all over her head. So, with her two arms
held high above her and the reins in her teeth, she rode down by the
mouth of Black Coulee--and up from the depths of the rugged wash that
split the plain for seven miles there came across her path a man on a
great bay horse.

Courtrey on Bolt! She knew the beautiful animal even so far away. It
did not need the challenging toss of El Rey's head, the piercing
scream that rang from his open mouth across the silence, nor the
sudden lunge and strain against the bit.

That was Bolt, the mighty, and no mistake. None but Arrow carried his
splendid head so regally, _none_ other bore so huge a cloud of mane on
his arching neck, so long a tail that spread like a fan between his
knees and almost swept the ground.

So, Courtrey came out of the Coulee to meet her! He would, maybe,
force the issue. But Tharon was not ready for that. What was plain
killing? No, she wanted more than that. She wanted to see him scourged
and beaten, humiliated and robbed as he had robbed Lost Valley.

So she turned El Rey, though it took the whole strength of her young
arms, and headed him back the way they had come. With the first turn
and straightening leap her heart thumped hard against her ribs.

There, between her and the Holding, far distant, there were two
riders--and they rode bay horses, both!

She made no doubt that they were Wylackie Bob and Black Bart, on Arrow
and Slingshot.

A sudden mist of fear came across her eyes. A tightening caught her
throat. She looked around the illimitable spaces that stretched away
on all sides. There was nothing in all the spreading plains but the
three riders, sprung from nowhere, it seemed, and herself.

Courtrey came rapidly up toward her, swinging a bit to the west. The
others, set somewhat apart to right and left, bore down upon her. It
looked very much as if they meant to ride her down to the Black
Coulee.

Once in its sheltering deep wash she would be helpless, cut off from
escape. The Black Coulee went back into the eastern hills, lost itself
up in the rugged and torturous clefts and chasms that cut the unknown
ramparts, dark with forest and mysterious.

No! Not the Black Coulee and Courtrey to take her prisoner!

She looked this way and that. Then she saw that toward her right she
had some margin. There was space there to swing away from the man in
front who came like the wind itself toward her. She caught the seeming
of great sp