him and close to the cliff. They rode at an easy lope,
and he could see that their heads were bent to watch the ground. Even
at this casual gait they would reach the point at which he and the gray
must swing onto the floor of the valley before him unless he urged Molly
to top speed. He must get there at a sufficient distance from them
to escape close rifle fire, and certainly beyond point-blank revolver
range. Accordingly he threw his weight more into the stirrups and over
the withers of the mare. This brought greater poundage on her forehand
and made her apt to stumble or actually miss her step, but it increased
her running power.

There was no need of a touch of the spurs. The gathering of the reins
seemed to tell Molly everything. One ear flickered back, then she leaped
out at full speed. It was as though the mind of the man had sent an
electric current down the reins and told her his thought. Now she
floundered at her foot, struck a loose stone, now she veered sharply and
wide to escape a boulder, now she cleared a gulley with a long leap, and
riding high as he was, bent forward out of balance to escape observation
from below. It was only a miracle of horsemanship that kept her from
breaking her neck as they lurched down the pitch. Grey Molly seemed to
be carrying no weight, only a clinging intelligence.

At this speed he was sure to reach the valley safely in front unless the
posse caught sight of him on the way and gave chase, and Barry counted
on that instinct in hunting men which makes them keep their eyes
low--the same sense which leads a searcher to look first under the bed
and last of all at the wall and ceiling. Once more, as he neared his
goal, he looked back and down, and there came the six horsemen, their
quirts swinging, their hat-brims blown straight up they raced at full
speed. They had seen the gray and they rode for blood.

The outstretched neck of Grey Molly, her flattened ears, the rapid
clangor of her hoofs on the rocks, seemed to indicate that she already
was doing her uttermost, but after the glimpse of the pursuit, Barry
crouched a little lower, his hand gathering the reins just behind her
head, his voice was near her, speaking softly, quickly. She responded
with a snort of effort, as though she realized the danger and willingly
accepted it. One ear, as she rushed down the slope, was pricked and one
flagged back to the guiding, strengthening voice of the rider.

The path wound in leisurely