addle, tapping her knee with her bridle-rein, was looking down and
past him as if the light upon his face were too bright. Before she
would start away she made him remount, and he said good-by only after
half a promise from her that she would show him sometime a trail to
the top of Bridger's Peak, with a view of the Peace River on the east
and the whole Mission Range and the park country on the north. Then
she rode away at an amazing run, nodding back as he sat still holding
his hat above his head.

McCloud galloped toward the pass with one determination--that he would
have a horse, and a good one, one that could travel with Jim, if it
cost him his salary. He exulted as he rode, for the day had brought
him everything he wished, and humiliation had been swallowed up in
triumph. It was nearly dark when he reached the crest between the
hills. At this point the southern grade of the pass winds sharply,
whence its name, the Elbow; but from the head of the pass the grade
may be commanded at intervals for half a mile. Trotting down this road
with his head in a whirl of excitement, McCloud heard the crack of a
rifle; at the same instant he felt a sharp slap at his hat. Instinct
works on all brave men very much alike. McCloud dropped forward in his
saddle, and, seeking no explanation, laid his head low and spurred
Bill Dancing's horse for life or death. The horse, quite amazed,
bolted and swerved down the grade like a snipe, with his rider
crouching close for a second shot. But no second shot came, and after
another mile McCloud ventured to take off his hat and put his finger
through the holes in it, though he did not stop his horse to make the
examination. When they reached the open country the horse had settled
into a fast, long stride that not only redeemed his reputation but
relieved his rider's nerves.

When McCloud entered his office it was half-past nine o'clock, and the
first thing he did before turning on the lights was to draw the
window-shades. He examined the hat again, with sensations that were
new to him--fear, resentment, and a hearty hatred of his enemies. But
all the while the picture of Dicksie remained. He thought of her
nodding to him as they parted in the saddle, and her picture blotted
out all that had followed.

CHAPTER XVI

AT THE WICKIUP

Two nights later Whispering Smith rode into Medicine Bend. "I've been
up around Williams Cache," he said, answering McCloud's greeting as he
entered the