y back!"

For two miles it was a race. The Ramblin' Kid held Captain Jack to a
steady run a couple of hundred yards in the rear of the speeding mare.
At last he pulled the stallion down to a trot. The Gold Dust maverick
answered by running another fifty yards and then herself settling into
the slower stride. "Like I thought," the Ramblin' Kid said to himself,
"it's a case of wear her out--a case of seasoned old muscle against
speedy young heels!"

It became a duel of endurance between Captain Jack, wiry, toughened and
fully matured, with heavier muscles, and the nimble, lighter-footed Gold
Dust mare.

At dark they were on the edge of the Arroyo Grande and Captain Jack had
closed the distance between them until less than a hundred yards was
between the heels of the filly and the head of the stallion behind her.
She turned east along the arroyo, followed it a mile, seeking a
crossing, then doubled straight north toward the Cimarron. Captain Jack
hung to her trail like a hound. In the blackness that preceded the storm
she could not lose him. With almost uncanny sureness he picked her
out--following, following, never giving the maverick a moment's rest.
Yet it seemed that the distance she kept ahead was measured, so alert
and watchful was she always. Both were dripping with sweat. Try as he
would, it seemed impossible for Captain Jack to win those few yards
that would put the filly in reach of the rope the Ramblin' Kid held
ready to cast until the inky darkness made it impossible to risk a
throw.

The mare splashed into the Cimarron.

A dazzling zigzag flash of lightning, the first of the storm, and the
Ramblin' Kid saw the filly struggling in the yellow wind-whipped
current. A moment later and Captain Jack was swimming close behind her.
On the north side of the river the mare yielded to the drive of the
tempest and turned east down the stream. A rocky gorge running at right
angles toward the north offered shelter from the lashing wind and rain.
Up the ravine the maverick headed. A rush of muddy water down the canyon
sent pursued and pursuer slipping and sliding and climbing for safety
high up on the brush-covered, torrent-swept hillside. The constant blaze
and tremble of lightning illumined the whole range. A wolf, terrified by
the storm, seeking cover, crouched in the shelter of a black rock-cliff.
The Ramblin' Kid saw the creature. His hand instinctively slipped under
his slicker and gripped the gun at his hip.