lk back to the stable when he heard a shot, and
the lighted doorway of the saloon became suddenly dark. Without waiting
to see what would happen next, Bartley ran to the rear of the stable and
untied the horses. Behind him he heard the quick trample of feet. He
turned. A figure appeared in the front doorway of the stable, a figure
that dashed toward him, and, with a leap and a swing, mounted Joshua and
spurred out and down the alley back of the building.

Bartley grabbed for his own stirrup, missed it, grabbed again and swung
up. Dobe leaped after the other horse, turned at the end of the alley,
and, reaching into a long, swinging gallop, pounded across the
night-black open. San Andreas had but one street. The backs of its
buildings opened to space.

Ahead, Cheyenne thundered across a narrow bridge over an arroyo. Dobe
lifted and leaped forward, as though in a race. From behind came the
quick patter of hoofs. One of Sneed's men had evidently managed to get
his horse loose from the reata. A solitary house, far out on the level,
flickered past. Bartley glanced back. The house door opened. A ray of
yellow light shot across the road.

"Hey, Cheyenne!" called Bartley.

But Cheyenne's little buckskin was drumming down the night road at a
pace that astonished the Easterner. Dobe seemed to be doing his best,
yet he could not overtake the buckskin. Behind Bartley the patter of
hoofs sounded nearer. Bartley thought he heard Cheyenne call back to
him. He leaned forward, but the drumming of hoofs deadened all other
sound.

They were on a road, now--a road that ran south across the spaces,
unwinding itself like a tape flung from a reel. Suddenly Cheyenne pulled
to a stop. Bartley raced up, bracing himself as the big cow-horse set up
in two jumps.

"I thought you was abidin' in San Andreas," said Cheyenne.

"There's some one coming!" warned Bartley, breathing heavily.

"And his name is Filaree," declared Cheyenne. "You sure done a good job.
Let's keep movin'." And Cheyenne let Joshua out as Filaree drew
alongside and nickered shrilly.

"Now I reckon we better hold 'em in a little," said Cheyenne after they
had gone, perhaps, a half-mile. "We got a good start."

They slowed the horses to a trot. Filaree kept close to Joshua's flank.
A gust of warm air struck their faces.

"Ain't got time to shake hands, pardner," said Cheyenne. "Know where
you're goin'?"

"South," said Bartley.

"Correc'. And I don't hear no hosses be