nied by the whine
of the long metal-cased bullet about his ears. For the last twenty-four
hours had he been in momentary expectation of that sinister song, of a
possible succeeding agony of blindness, for he realized that he was now
in the hands of the gods, and more or less at the mercy of the desperate
man whom he had been relentlessly pursuing for the last three days, a
man who would just as relentlessly kill him if the opportunity offered,
a man who knew every inch of these mountain fastnesses in which he had
taken refuge in his last extremity.

But despite all hazards of ambush he had kept doggedly on the trail, and
now he was within reach of his quarry. Hurriedly directing two of his
best mounted followers to cover the canyon's mouth below, and the
remaining two to guard the only other possible exit above, he rode at
breakneck speed down the precipitous trail, spurred to recklessness by
a woman's wailing scream.

Four days before, the Gunnison Express had been boarded at a watering
tank, some fifty miles out of the city, by a particularly villainous
band of desperadoes who, not content with looting the passengers, mails
and express matter, had maliciously aggravated their crime with murder,
deliberately shooting down the conductor and express messenger after the
robbery had been accomplished. It was an unheard-of brutality, the men
being helpless, unarmed and unresisting, and pursuit of the wretches had
been so prompt and successful that every member of the gang, save the
one now in the canyon before him, was presently decorating a series of
telegraph posts on the outskirts of the city, their captors having given
them but exceedingly short shrift. And one of them, in an unavailing
attempt to enlist the mercy of his grim executioners, had confessed that
Matlock was the leader of the gang; but with characteristic cowardice
had refrained from personal active participation in the robbery, merely
directing their operations from a safe distance as arch plotter. His
trail was soon found and had been skillfully followed so far by the
expert marshal, whose long experience in trailing cattle on the cow
range had made him one of the best trackers in the mountains.

Ballard was at a loss to account for the fatal recklessness of that
shot. Matlock must certainly have known that It would betray his
whereabouts and he was far too shrewd a villain to so unnecessarily
expose himself to the risk of possible capture. There was but