against her rode the hardest rider in the mountains. She had
set herself to what few men on the range would have dared and what no
other woman on the range could do. "Why have I learned to ride," went
the question through her mind, "if not for this--for those I love and
for those who love me?" Sinclair had a start, she well knew, but not
so much for a night like this night. He would ride to kill those he
hated; she would ride to save those she loved. Her horse already was
on the Elbow grade; she knew it from his shorter spring--a lithe,
creeping spring that had carried her out of deep canyons and up long
draws where other horses walked. The wind lessened and the rain drove
less angrily in her face. She patted Jim's neck with her wet glove,
and checked him as tenderly as a lover, to give him courage and
breath. She wanted to be part of him as he strove, for the horror of
the night began to steal on the edge of her thoughts. A gust drove
into her face. They were already at the head of the pass, and the
horse, with level ground underfoot, was falling into the long reach;
but the wind was colder.

Dicksie lowered her head and gave Jim the rein. She realized how wet
she was; her feet and her knees were wet. She had no protection but
her skirt, though the meanest rider on all her countless acres would
not have braved a mile on such a night without leather and fur. The
great lapels of her riding-jacket, reversed, were buttoned tight
across her shoulders, and the double fold of fur lay warm and dry
against her heart and lungs; but her hands were cold, and her skirt
dragged leaden and cold from her waist, and water soaked in upon her
chilled feet. She knew she ought to have thought of these things. She
planned, as thought swept in a moving picture across her brain, how
she would prepare again for such a ride--with her cowboy costume that
she had once masqueraded in for Marion, with leggings of buckskin and
"chaps" of long white silken wool. It was no masquerade now--she was
riding in deadly earnest; and her lips closed to shut away a creepy
feeling that started from her heart and left her shivering.

She became conscious of how fast she was going. Instinct, made keen by
thousands of saddle miles, told Dicksie of her terrific pace. She was
riding faster than she would have dared go at noonday and without
thought or fear of accident. In spite of the sliding and the plunging
down the long hill, the storm and the darkness brought