rew a birch on
each side as a guard rail, affording fence, not protection, to the
wavering faith of a shy horse, "all a feeling of security to steady a
giddy head," he reflected. He led the little pack mule; and the
bronchos followed. A moment later, he was galloping through the
larches and low juniper that fringed the Mesas above the Rim Rock
trail, the mule huff-huffing to the fore snatching mouthfuls on the
run. Then, with a lope, Wayland's broncho leaped out on the bare
sage-grown Mesas, the mule with ears pointed, nose high, heading
straight for the white canvas-top of a tented wagon.

For a moment, the light blinded Wayland's sight; for the sun had come
up in an orange fan; and the sky was not blue: it shone the dazzling
silver of mercury. Against the high rarefied air came in view the
figure of a man, grotesquely exaggerated, head and shoulders first,
then body, riding a heavy horse, saddleless, hatless, coatless, white
of hair, heels pressed to his horse's flanks, bent far over the
animal's neck as Indians ride, galloping for the Rim Rock trail, or a
second jump from the battlements.

Wayland stood up in his stirrups and with hands trumpeted uttered a
yell. The rider jerked his horse to a rear flounder, waved
frantically, then split the air--

"Glory be to the powers--but--A'm glad to see you! A've headed them
off from the South trail. We've got them, Wayland, the low dastard
scoundrels! We've got them trapped like rats in a trap! They're in
the Pass if you've a man in the Valley with spirit enough to get out
with a gun!" He stopped for breath as the two horses floundered
together.

"We haven't," answered Wayland.

"They jumped the gully! Man alive, y' ought t' seen them jump the
gully! A slammed them right down into the bottom of it. A would to
God 't had been to the bottomless pit. The same gentry A saw that
night under your Ridge, saving his High Mightiness. The evil fellow
wi' the sheep hide leggings, an' the one armed blackguard in the
cow-boy slicker, an' the corduroy dandy wi' the red tie, an' four more
of them same card-sharp gentry. A rode 'long the top of y'r gully an'
poured six bullets after 'em! Man alive! A heard the fellow in the
yellow slicker yell bloody murder when A fired! A'm hopin'--God
forgive me--A've nipped him in the other arm an' brought him winged t'
th' throne o' Grace! They followed the gully bed behind y'r Mountain,
the white horse same as yon night unde