if he pushed on at full speed the
chances were all in his favor considering the long start he had.

The range-rider was astride the fastest horse in the Lunar stables.
Steve had taken his pick of the mounts, for his work was cut out for
him. Hitherto the luck had all been with Harrison. If Yeager had not met
one of the old Lone Star boys, now riding for the Hashknife outfit, and
stopped to join him in a long talk over their cigarettes, Steve would
have reached Los Robles in time to spoil the man's plan. Or if he had
gone direct to Mrs. Seymour instead of fooling away a good hour and a
half in his room, he would have cut down his enemy's start by so much
golden time.

Now all he could do was to get every foot of speed from his horse that
could be coaxed. He rode like a Centaur, giving with his lithe, supple
body to every motion of the animal. But though he took steep hillsides
of shale on the run, the pony slithering down in a slide of rubble like
a cat, the rider's alert eyes watched the footing keenly. He could
afford if necessary to break a leg himself, but he could not afford to
have the horse suffer such an accident. Not for nothing had he ridden on
the roundup for many years. Few men even in Arizona could have
negotiated safely such a bit of daredevil travel as he was doing this
night.

His brains were busy, too, on the problem before him. Times and
distances he figured, took into account the animals Harrison and Ruth
were riding, estimated her strength and her companion's feverish haste
to reach safety with her. They would have to stop at a water-hole
somewhere, either on Gila Creek, or the old Pima camping-ground, or else
at Lone Tree Spring. The most direct route to Noche Buena was by Lone
Tree. Harrison was in a deuce of a hurry. Therefore he would choose the
shortest way. So Yeager guessed and hoped.

His watch told him it was an hour past midnight when Steve drew close
to Lone Tree Spring. He was following a sandy wash into the soft bed of
which the hoofs of his horse sank without noise. They were perhaps two
hundred yards from the spring when the ears of his pony lifted. That was
enough for Yeager. He dismounted and trailed the reins, guessing that
the wind had brought the scent of other horses to his own. Quietly he
moved forward, rifle in hand ready for action.

The heart of him jumped when he caught sight of two picketed horses
grazing on the bench above. He worked forward with infinite care along