ir three
pursuers discharged a volley in concert. The fugitives put spurs to
their horses, and, turning in their saddles, fired rapidly back at the
vague, moving shapes they could barely see in the darkness. Ellhorn
heard an angry oath and guessed that somebody had been injured. The
bullets whistled past their ears, and now and then they heard the dull
ping of lead against the rocky walls of the narrow pass. Their horses
had kept their wind through the slow walk up the hill and sprang
forward with fresh, willing speed. But the others had been exhausted
by the fierce gallop up the steep ascent, and could not hold the pace
that Mead and his friends set for them. Slowly the officers fell back,
until they were so far in the rear that they ceased shooting. Mead,
Tuttle and Ellhorn put away their revolvers and galloped on in
silence for some distance before they stopped to listen. Far back in
the darkness they could hear the faint footfalls of the three horses.

"They blowed their horses so bad comin' up the hill," said Mead, "that
they'll never catch up with us again. I reckon they won't try now.
They'll stay in Muletown to-night and go on to the Fillmore ranch
to-morrow."

"If they don't turn round and go back," said Ellhorn. "I don't believe
they'll want to try this thing on at the ranch."

"We'll sure be ready for 'em if they show up there," said Tuttle, the
grim note of battle in his voice.

Ellhorn laughed joyously. "I guess we're just goin' to everlastingly
get even with that Fillmore outfit!"

"Well, it will keep us busy, but we'll do our best," Mead cheerfully
assented.

They galloped down the long eastern declivity of the mountain,
stopping once at a miner's camp, a little way off the road, to water
and breathe their horses. A little later they stopped to listen again,
but they could not catch the faintest sound of hoof-beats from the
mountain side. They did not know whether their pursuers had turned
about and gone back to Las Plumas, or were taking the road leisurely,
intending to stop at Muletown until morning.

On again they galloped, neck to neck and heel to heel, with the
starry sky above and the long level of the plain before them. Mead
glanced to the north, where the Big Dipper, pivoted on the twinkling
pole star, was swinging its mighty course through the blue spaces of
the sky, and said, "It's about midnight, boys." The dim, faintly
gleaming, dusty gray of the road contracted to a lance-like point