trong hands grasp her. She was whisked through the
door; through the outer door and away, into the fresh air, and into the
waiting automobile. She felt Harry's hot breath on her fore head as
they sped in flight.

There was clamor behind them for a moment car was starting. Then came
only the thrash of footsteps through the grassy road as the coiners
rushed to their own machine.

One stern command reached the ears of Pauline and Harry as they sped
on:

"It's your lives or theirs. Get them or kill yourselves."

"It's no use, Polly. Come," cried Harry, after a time.

His voice sounded grim, peremptory. The machine with a sudden swerve
had gone almost off the road with an exploded tire. It was only
Harry's powerful hand that had saved them from wreck.

But as he helped Pauline out and led her on a run into the forest he
heard the sound of the pursuing machine coming to a stop and the tumult
of voices behind them. He knew that one peril had only been supplanted
by another.

"Where--Where are we going, Harry?"

"The Gorman camp--if we can make it; if we can reach the river."

"There's the old quarry," she exclaimed as they came out on the crest
of a blast-gnarled cliff overlooking a stream. "I know their camp is
near the quarry."

"But on the other side of the river. Don't talk; run," he pleaded,
leading her down a footpath that traced a winding way over the face of
the cliff into the quarry.

In the shelter of the rocks there stood two small buildings about five
hundred yards apart. One was the old tool house of the deserted
quarry. The other was a hunter's hut, evidently newly built.

A commanding cry came from the top of the cliff.

"Halt or we fire!"

They ran on. A shot echoed and a bullet flattened itself against the
stone base of the quarry not two yards from Pauline.

"In here--quick," said Harry, dragging her to the hunter's lodge and
thrusting her through the open door. There was another shot and the
thud of another bullet as he slammed the door.

"It looks like a fight now, Polly," he said, as he' moved quickly around
the hut. "And thank Heaven--here's something to fight with."

From a rack in the wall he lifted down a Winchester rifle and a belt of
cartridges. "Get into the corner and lie down," he ordered.

"No, give me the revolver," cried Pauline.

She did not wait for his protest, but drew from hilt coat pocket the
pistol he had wrested from Wallace.

For an instant he