ed her--nothing but the rising note.
Then she saw that the distance was widening--just a tiny bit.

Truly it was widening. Courtrey, looking back, had caught the sun on
her golden hair, on her face as white as milk. He saw that her hands
were at her hips--loosely set back at her hips--and what thought he
might have had of mercy at her hands--what wild vision he might have
seen of speech with her--of parley--of persuasion--was dead.

He leaned down and struck the Ironwood with his open hand.

Bolt, the beautiful, leaped in answer. A little more--slowly--the
distance between pursuer and pursued widened. Then--Tharon blinked the
mist from her eyes to make sure--the gain was lost. Slowly, steadily,
El Rey closed up the extra width. Then for a time there was no change.
The open plain resounded to the roar of hoofs, the wind sang by like
taut strings struck. The earth was still that racing green blur
beneath.

And still the electric note of rising speed hummed softly higher.

If Jim Last rode his silver stallion to the goal of vengeance he must
surely have been satisfied. The great shoulders worked like pistons,
the whole massive body was level as the flowing floor beneath, the
steel-thewed limbs reached and doubled--reached and doubled--with
wonderful power and precision.

And then at last Tharon knew--knew that El Rey was gaining, slowly,
steadily, surely. The splendid bay horse was running magnificently,
but El Rey ran like a super-horse. His silver head was straight as a
level, his ears laid back, his nostrils wide and flaring, red as
blood, his big eyes glowed with the wildness of savage flight.

The great king was mad with speed!

Jim Last's girl was mad also--mad with the lust of conquest, of
revenge.

She rose a little from the stallion's whipping mane, and her blue eyes
burned on the man ahead.

"I said I'd get you, Buck Courtrey!" she muttered, "that some day I'd
run th' Ironwoods off their feet--th' heart out of their master!

"Run, damn you--for it's your last ride!"

Then she dropped forward again and watched the distance closing down.

Nearer--nearer--nearer!

The note rose another notch.

Never in his life had El Rey run as he ran now. Always he had had
reserves. He had them now. The bottom of his power was not reached.

Bolt was doing his best. Once he threw up his head and foam flew on
the wind--red foam that shot back and whipped on Tharon's hand, a wet
pink stain, thinned and faded.

A