up and down the ravine, a
perfect target, and Barry's hand slipped automatically over his rifle.

His fingers refused to close upon it.

"I can't do it, Satan," he whispered. "We got to take our chances of
gettin' by, that's all. He couldn't have no hand with Grey Molly."

Narrow chances indeed, by this time, for the brief pause had brought the
posse fairly upon his heels; the farmer saw the fugitive and brought
his shotgun to the ready; and Black Bart in an agony of impatience raced
round and round the master. A wild cheer rose from the posse and came
echoing about him; they had sighted their quarry. From Rickett to Morgan
Hills, from Morgan Hills to St. Vincent, from St. Vincent to Wago and
far beyond; but this was the end of an historic run.

"D'ye see?" whispered Barry, leaning close to Satan's ears. "Lad, d'ye
see what you've got to do?"

The black stood with his head very high, quivering through his whole
body while he eyed the fence. It was murderously high, and all things
were against him, the long run, the rise of the ground going toward the
fence, and the gravel from which he must take off for the jump.

"You can do it," said the master. "You got to do it! Go for it, boy. We
win or lose together!"

He swayed forward, and Satan leaped ahead at full speed, gathering
impetus, scattering the gravel on either side. The farmer on the inside
of the fence raised his shotgun leisurely to his shoulder and took a
careful aim. He knew what it all meant. He had heard of the outlaw,
Barry, with his black horse and his wolf-dog--everyone in the desert
had, for that matter--and even had he been ignorant the shouting of the
posse which now raced down the canyon in full view would have told him
all that he needed to know. How many things went through his mind while
he squinted down the gleaming barrel! He thought of the long labor on
the farm and the mortgage which still ate the life of his produce every
year; he thought of the narrow bowed shoulders of his wife; he thought
of the meager faces of his children; and he thought first and last of
ten thousand dollars reward! No wonder the hand which supported the
barrels was steady as an iron prop. He was shooting for his life and the
happiness of five souls!

He would save his fire till he literally saw the white of the
enemy's eyes: until the outlaw reached the fence, No horse on the
mountain-desert could top that highest strand of wire as he very well
knew; and in his