is speed the strain told on lungs
and legs. Weir had reduced the distance first to three hundred yards,
then to two hundred, and at last but a hundred separated him from the
man and horse ahead.

The hard chase indeed was beginning to tell on his own mount. Flecks
of foam flew from its lips; its neck was wet with sweat; the whistle
of its breath was audible to the engineer at every stride. For as both
men had realized that now the end could not be far off, they had
pushed their horses to faster and faster galloping.

On a sudden Sorenson swung his animal into a dim trail leading from
the main road skirting the mountain range to the base of the mountains
themselves. The first slopes were but a mile away, covered with a
scattering growth of pinyon pines. Just in front, too, for which the
trail seemed pointing, was a dark ravine filled with brush that rose
to the denser timber above. This was the fugitive's goal. Once he
could fling himself from the saddle and plunge into the undergrowth he
would be safe from his pursuer.

The two ponies struggled on with exhausted leaps. Weir had reduced the
interval to seventy-five yards by the time half the distance was
covered and to fifty as they drew near the mouth of the ravine. He
measured his gain and the remaining two hundred yards or so with
savage eyes, then drew his revolver. He desired to take Sorenson
unharmed. But rather than that the man should escape he would kill
him.

Sorenson's horse stumbled, but a jerk of the reins saved him and kept
him moving on. The engineer struck his own pony fiercely on the flank,
which produced a tremendous effort in the striving beast that brought
it within thirty paces or so of Sorenson. That, however, was the best
it could do, labor as it would. Its knees were trembling at every
stride, its head swinging heavily.

Sorenson's horse suddenly went to its knees. But the man leaping clear
took the ground on his feet and instantly set off at a run for the
line of brush in the draw some seventy or eighty paces away. A last
spurt Weir's pony made, bringing his rider to within thirty yards of
the cattleman, who glancing over his shoulder halted, swung about,
fired a shot and again started to run.

The pony under Weir came to an abrupt stop, shaking. He was done,
whether from exhaustion or the bullet the engineer did not wait to
see. Flinging himself out the saddle he raced after his man, taking
the rough trail leading up the slope in swift s