ennedy and Scott without giving
an alarm, but by a quick _detour_ he could at least hold the quarry
back for twenty minutes with his rifle, and in that time Kennedy and
Scott could come up.

Less than half an hour of daylight remained. If the outlaws could slip
down the wash and out into the Crawling Stone Valley they had every
chance of getting away in the night; and if the third man should be
Barney Rebstock, Whispering Smith knew that Sinclair thought only of
escape. Smith alone, of their pursuers, could now intercept them, but
a second hope remained: on the left, Wickwire was high enough to
command every turn in the bed of the river. He might see them and
could force them to cover with his rifle even at long range. Casting
up the chances, Whispering Smith, riding faster over the uneven ground
than anything but sheer recklessness would have prompted, hastened
across the waste. His rifle lay in his hand, and he had pushed his
horse to a run. A single fearful instinct crowded now upon the long
strain of the week. A savage fascination burned like a fever in his
veins, and he meant that they should not get away. Taking chances that
would have shamed him in cooler moments, he forced his horse at the
end of the long ride to within a hundred paces of the river, threw his
lines, slipped like a lizard from the saddle, and, darting with
incredible swiftness from rock to rock, gained the water's edge.

From up the long shadows of the wash there came the wail of an owl.
From it he knew that Wickwire had seen them and was warning him, but
he had anticipated the warning and stood below where the hunted men
must ride. He strained his eyes over the waste of rock above. For one
half-hour of daylight he would have sold, in that moment, ten years of
his life. What could he do if they should be able to secrete
themselves until dark between him and Wickwire? Gliding under cover of
huge rocks up the dry watercourse, he reached a spot where the floods
had scooped a long, hollow curve out of a soft ledge in the bank,
leaving a stretch of smooth sand on the bed of the stream. At the
upper point great bowlders pushed out in the river. He could not
inspect the curve from the spot he had gained without reckless
exposure, but he must force the little daylight left to him. Climbing
completely over the lower point, he advanced cautiously, and from
behind a sheltering spur stepped out upon an overhanging table of rock
and looked across the river-