at me."

He spilled the contents of the sack out on the sand, and bent over it.

What had made Allie's eyes flash was the recognition of her opportunity.
She did not hesitate an instant. First she looked to see just where the
mustang stood. He was near, with the rope dragging, half coiled. Allie
suddenly noticed the head and ears of the mustang. He heard something.
She looked up the valley slope and saw a file of Indians riding down,
silhouetted against the sky. They were coming fast. For an
instant Allie's senses reeled. Then she rallied. Her situation was
desperate--almost hopeless. But here was the issue of life or death, and
she met it.

In one bound she had the rifle. Long before, she had ascertained that it
was loaded. The man Frank heard the click of the raising hammer.

"What're you doin'?" he demanded, fiercely.

"Don't get up!" warned Allie. She stepped backward nearer the mustang.
"Look up the slope!... Indians!"

But he paid no heed. He jumped up and strode toward her.

"Look, man!" cried Allie, piercingly. He came on. Then Fresno appeared,
running, white of face.

Allie, without leveling the rifle, fired at Frank, even as his clutching
hands struck the weapon.

He halted, with sudden gasp, sank to his knees, fell against the tree,
and then staggered up again.

Allie had to drop the rifle to hold the frightened mustang. She mounted
him, urged him away, and hauled in the dragging lasso. Once clear of
brush and stones, he began to run. Allie saw a clear field ahead, but
there were steep rocky slopes boxing the valley. She would be hemmed in.
She got the mustang turned, and ran among the trees, keeping far over to
the left. She heard beating hoofs off to the right, crashings in brush,
and then yells. An opening showed the slope alive with Indians riding
hard. Some were heading down, and others up the valley to cut off her
escape; the majority were coming straight for the clumps of trees.

Fresno burst out of cover mounted on Sandy's bay horse. He began to
shoot. And the Indians fired in reply. All along the slopes rose white
puffs of smoke, and bullets clipped dust from the ground in front of
Allie. Fresno drew ahead. The bay horse was swift. Allie pulled her
mustang more to the left, hoping to get over the ridge, which on that
side was not high. To her dismay, Indians appeared there, too. She
wheeled back to the first course and saw that she must attempt what
Fresno was trying.

Then the robbe