the trail from a level. It was the only place
a man or horse could leave the valley for the pass.

"Dick, here's your stand. If any raider rides in range take a crack at
him.... Now I want the lend of your hoss."

"Blanco Sol!" exclaimed Gale, more in amazement that Ladd should ask
for the horse than in reluctance to lend him.

"Will you let me have him?" Ladd repeated, almost curtly.

"Certainly, Laddy."

A smile momentarily chased the dark cold gloom that had set upon the
ranger's lean face.

"Shore I appreciate it, Dick. I know how you care for that hoss. I
guess mebbe Charlie Ladd has loved a hoss! An' one not so good as Sol.
I was only tryin' your nerve, Dick, askin' you without tellin' my plan.
Sol won't get a scratch, you can gamble on that! I'll ride him down
into the valley an' pull the greasers out in the open. They've got
short-ranged carbines. They can't keep out of range of the .405, an'
I'll be takin' the dust of their lead. Sabe, senor?"

"Laddy! You'll run Sol away from the raiders when they chase you? Run
him after them when they try to get away?"

"Shore. I'll run all the time. They can't gain on Sol, an' he'll run
them down when I want. Can you beat it?"

"No. It's great!... But suppose a raider comes out on Blanco Diablo?"

"I reckon that's the one weak place in my plan. I'm figgerin' they'll
never think of that till it's too late. But if they do, well, Sol can
outrun Diablo. An' I can always kill the white devil!"

Ladd's strange hate of the horse showed in the passion of his last
words, in his hardening jaw and grim set lips.

Gale's hand went swiftly to the ranger's shoulder.

"Laddy. Don't kill Diablo unless it's to save your life."

"All right. But, by God, if I get a chance I'll make Blanco Sol run
him off his legs!"

He spoke no more and set about changing the length of Sol's stirrups.
When he had them adjusted to suit he mounted and rode down the trail
and out upon the level. He rode leisurely as if merely going to water
his horse. The long black rifle lying across his saddle, however, was
ominous.

Gale securely tied the other horse to a mesquite at hand, and took a
position behind a low rock over which he could easily see and shoot
when necessary. He imagined Jim Lash in a similar position at the far
end of the valley blocking the outlet. Gale had grown accustomed to
danger and the hard and fierce feelings peculiar to it. But the coming
drama was