m. For Randerson had chosen his position when
halting Patches--it was strategic, and they knew his fingers were itching
for the feel of his guns.

They saw the crooked smile fade from his lips; they curved with cold,
amused contempt.

"Not runnin' no risks to speak of, eh?" he drawled. "Well, get goin'!" He
lounged in the saddle, watching them as they rode away, not looking back.
When they reached the far slope of the basin he turned Patches and
sniffed disgustedly. Five minutes later he was at the crest of the back
slope, riding toward the outfit, miles away.

It was an hour later that he observed a moving spot on the sky line. The
distance was great, but something familiar in the lines of the
figure--when he presently got near enough to see that the blot was a pony
and rider--made his blood leap with eager anticipation; and he spoke
sharply to Patches, sending him forward at a brisk lope.

He had seen some cattle near the rider; he had passed them earlier in the
morning--lean, gaunt range steers that would bother a fast pony in a run
if thoroughly aroused.

He saw that the rider had halted very close to one of the steers, and a
look of concern flashed into his eyes.

"She oughtn't to do that!" he muttered. Unconsciously, his spurs touched
Patches' flanks, and the little animal quickened his pace.

Randerson did not remove his gaze from the distant horse and rider. He
rode for a quarter of a mile in silence, his muscles slowly tensing as he
watched.

"What's she doin' now?" he demanded of the engulfing space, as he saw the
rider swing around in the saddle.

"Hell!" he snapped an instant later; "she's gettin' off her horse!" He
raised his voice in a shout, that fell flat and futile on the dead desert
air, and he leaned forward in the saddle and drove the spurs deep as he
saw the range steer nearest the rider raise its head inquiringly and look
toward the rider--for she had dismounted and was walking away from her
horse at an angle that would take her very close to the steer.

Patches was running now, with the cat-like leaps peculiar to him, and his
rider was urging him on with voice and spur and hand, his teeth set, his
eyes burning with anxiety.

But the girl had not seen him. She was still moving away from her horse;
too far away from it to return if the steer decided to charge her, and
Randerson was still fully half a mile distant.

He groaned audibly as he saw the steer take a few tentative steps towar