necessary to say that it was Phyllis.

Behind them, unnoticed by any, sometimes hidden from sight by the rise
and fall of the rough ground, sometimes silhouetted against the sky
line, rode a slim, supple figure on a white-faced cow pony. Once, when
the fresh morning wind swept down a gulch at an oblique angle, it lifted
for an instant from the stirrup leather what might have been a gray
flag. But the flag was only a skirt, and it signalled nothing more
definite than the courage and devotion of a girl who knew that the men
she loved best on earth were in danger.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE ROUND-UP

The Mimbres Pass narrows toward the southern exit where Point o' Rocks
juts into the canon and commands it like a sentinel. Toward this column
of piled boulders slowly moved a cloud of white dust, at the base of
which crept a band of hard-driven cattle. Swollen tongues were out,
heads stretched forward in a bellow for water taken up by one as another
dropped it. The day was still hot, though the sun had slipped down over
the range, and the drove had been worked forward remorselessly. Every
inch that could be sweated out of them had been gained.

For those that pushed them along were in desperate hurry. Now and again
a rider would twist round in his saddle to sweep back a haggard glance.
Dust enshrouded them, lay heavy on every exposed inch; but through it
seams of anxiety crevassed their leathern faces. Iron men they were,
with one exception. Fight they could and would to the last ditch. But
behind the jaded, stony eyes lay a haunting fear, the never-ending dread
of a pursuit that might burst upon them at any moment. Driven to the
wall, they would have faced the enemy like tigers, with a fierce,
exultant hate. It was the never-ending possibility of disaster that lay
heavily upon them.

Just as they entered the pass, a man came spurring up the steep trail
behind them. The drag drivers shouted a warning to those in front and
waited alertly with weapons ready. The man trying to overtake them waved
a sombrero as a flag of truce.

"Keep an eye on him, Tom. If he makes a move that don't look good to
you, plug him!" ordered the keen-eyed man beside one of the drag
drivers.

"I'm bridle wise, boss." But though he spoke with bravado Dixon shook
like an aspen in a breeze.

The man he had called boss looked every inch a leader. He rode with the
loose seat and the straight back of the Westerner to the saddle born.
Just now h