ted over the animal in their path. The clatter of pursuing
hoofs stopped the runner for an instant, and in that same instant Philip
halted and rose in his stirrups to fire. As his finger pressed the
trigger there came to his ears a thrilling sound from behind
him--the sharp galloping beat of steel upon rock! Billinger was
coming--Billinger, with his broken leg and his carbine!

He could have shouted for joy as he fired.

Once--twice, and the outlaw was speeding ahead of him again, unhurt. A
third shot and the man stumbled among the rocks and disappeared. There
was no movement toward retreat on the part of the mounted men, and
Philip listened as he slipped in fresh cartridges. His horse was
panting; he could hear the excited and joyous tumult of his own
heart-but above it all he heard the steady beat, beat, beat of those
approaching hoofs! Billinger would be there soon--in time to use his
carbine at a deadly rate, while he got into closer quarters with his
revolver. God bless Billinger--and his broken leg!

He was filled with the craze of fight now and it found vent in a yell
of defiance as he spurred on toward the outlaws. They were not going to
run. They were waiting for him. He caught the gleam of the hot sun on
their revolvers, and saw that they meant business as they swung a little
apart to divide his fire. At one hundred yards Philip still held his gun
at his side; at sixty he pulled in his mare, flattened along her neck
like an Indian, his pistol arm swinging free between her ears. It was
one of the cleverest fighting tricks of the service, and he made the
movement as the guns of the others leaped before their faces. Two shots
sang over his head, so close that they would have swept him from the
saddle if he had been erect. In another moment the rockbound chasm
echoed with the steady roar of the three revolvers. In front of the
flaming end of his own gun Philip saw the outlaw on the right pitch
forward in his saddle and fall to the ground. He sent his last shot at
the man on the left and drew his second gun. Before he could fire again
his mare gave a tremendous lunge forward and stumbled upon her knees,
and with a gasp of horror Philip felt the saddle-girth slip as he swung
to free himself.

In the few terrible seconds that followed Philip was conscious of two
things--that death was very near, and that Billinger was a moment too
late. Less than ten paces away the outlaw was deliberately taking aim at
him, while