ed the horse. She stumbled at times with pain; but if it were to
kill her she would not speak.

Hawk had followed the two from the abutment. He joined them now. Kate
was only aware that a second man had come up and was moving silently
near them. Laramie spoke to him--she could not catch what he
said--then helped her into the saddle. "I'm going to the house again,"
he said, "this man will stay with you. I'll be back in a moment."

Little as she liked being left with another, she could not object. The
rocky wall saved her partly from the storm and as to the other man she
was only vaguely conscious at intervals of a shapeless form outlined
beside the horse.

Laramie was gone more than a moment but under Kate's shelter nothing
happened. The horse, subdued by storm and weariness, stood like a
statue. Uneasy with pain, Kate was very nervous. New sounds were
borne on the wind from the darkness; then she heard Laramie's voice;
and then a rough question from another voice: "How the hell did you get
him out?"

"Walked him out," was the response. Laramie had brought back her own
horse. "Get on him," added Laramie, speaking to the other man. "I'll
lead my horse--he's sure-footed for her. You know the way down."

Kate made only one effort as the man she knew must be Laramie came to
the head of the horse she was on, patted his wet neck and took hold of
the bridle. She leaned forward in the saddle: "I'll try again to get
home if you'll help me get out of here."

"I'm helping you get out," was the reply. "If you knew where you were,
you wouldn't talk yet about trying for home." He stepped closer to the
saddle, tested the cinches and spoke to Kate: "It's a hard ride. You
can make it by letting the horse strictly alone. I'll lead him but he
won't stand two bosses in this kind of a mess, over the only trail that
leads from here. How you ever got in, God only knows, and He won't
tell--leastways, not tonight. Sit tight. Don't get scared no matter
what happens. If the horse should break a leg all we can do is to
shoot him and you can try your own horse; but your horse is all in now."

To ride at night a mile in the chilling blackness of a mountain storm
is to ride five. To face a buffeting wind and a sweep of heavy rain
mile after mile and keep a saddle while a horse pauses, halts, starts
and staggers, rights himself, gropes painfully for an uncertain
foothold among rocks where a bighorn must pick his way, is t