suspiciously.

"Is this bluff--or straight business?" he demanded harshly.

Jim shrugged.

"You best get on--if you're going to clear. You said they were three
miles off," he reminded him, in the same cold manner.

Will looked back. He was still doubtful, but--he realized he must take
the advice. He had delayed too long now for anything else.

"She sent you, eh?" he asked, sharply. "It's not your own doin'?"

"I've no sympathy with--cattle-thieves," Jim retorted. "Git, quick!"

His eyes were on the horizon now. And it was his alert look that
finally decided the doubting man. He swung his horse round, and rode
for the river.

"So long," he called back. But there was no word of thanks. Neither
had the other any response to his farewell.

Jim watched him till he disappeared, then he turned again to the
rising grassland and watched for the coming of the hunters. And as he
watched his thoughts reverted to the doctrine of the one-way trail.
Will was traveling it hard. For him there was certainly no turning
back now.

But his horse had ceased grazing again, and once more stood with ears
pricked, gazing up the slope. Its master understood. This was no
moment to consider abstract problems, however they might interest him.
Stern reality lay ahead of him, and he knew he was in for an
unpleasant time. He linked his arm through his horse's reins, and,
with head bent, trailed slowly up the incline, pausing and stooping to
examine the hoof-prints of Will Henderson's horse, as though it were a
trail he had just discovered, and was anxious to learn its meaning. He
was thinking hard the while, and calculating his chances when the
hunters should come up.

While he appeared to be studying the track so closely, he yet was
watching the hill-crest ahead. He knew the men were rapidly
approaching, for the rumble of galloping horses was quite distinct to
his well-trained ears. He wanted his intentness to be at its closest
when the gang first discovered him.

He had his wish. As the men topped the ridge he was on one knee
studying a clearer imprint than usual. Doc Crombie and Smallbones,
riding at the head of a party of five men, saw him, and the latter
shouted his joy.

"Gee! we've got him! Say----" He broke off, staring hard at the
kneeling figure. The outline was familiar. Suddenly Jim stood up, and
the little man instantly recognized him. "Guess you lost that
three-year-old 'driver,' Doc," he cried, his face alight with mali