s like, and yet not like, laughter.

The laughter was worse on Carl's nerves than the silence, and he felt
himself grow sick at heart.

How could he expect to fight or escape from a devil impervious to the
balls from a Colt forty-five?

Then, to Carl's amazement and relief, the black horse sprang forward
over the snow so swiftly that it seemed as if it was flying rather than
running, but this probably was due to the uncertainty and the illusion
of the moonlight, and vanished into thin air, leaving Carl staring
open-mouthed.

It was several minutes before Carl regained his senses and knew that he
was sitting with his revolver in his hand, staring into space and seeing
nothing.

Then he rode slowly forward to the brink of a deep coulee.

Here was where he had last seen the phantom rider, for such Carl had at
last come to regard him.

Looking to the bottom of the coulee, Carl saw nothing but snow, where he
had expected to find a dead horse and rider.

"Ach, vot a country," he wailed. "Vy did I effer come to it? Mutter, I
vish you vas here to hellup your Carlos."

Then he heard a groan close at hand and looked about, expecting to see
the phantom rider by his side.

A short distance off lay a black splotch on the snow.

It resembled the prostrate form of a man. Had he, after all, killed his
horrible enemy? Cautiously he rode toward it. It was a man, and not the
phantom, and it looked very much like a cow-puncher, for it was clad in
leather coat and chaps, and there was a belt filled with cartridges, and
in the snow beside it lay a Colt forty-five.

This at least was human, and Carl climbed stiffly from his saddle and
bent over it.

He started back with a cry of surprise.

The man in the snow was his line partner, Follansbee.

That he was not dead was evident, for he groaned occasionally.

It was up to Carl to get him to camp as soon as he could, and when he
tried to raise the insensible form he was stopped by a gush of blood
from a wound in the breast.

But he heard a shot in the distance, then another, and another.

The boys had heard his shots, and were riding toward him with all speed.

Presently he heard the long yell, and in a few minutes Bud Morgan came
dashing toward him at top speed, and soon they were joined by Kit
Summers from sign camp No. 2, and the horror of the night was over for
Carl.

CHAPTER VI.

CAUGHT IN THE ACT.

Follansbee was carried to camp No. 2, where Bud, who was