he leading horse leaped convulsively,
not up nor aside, but straight ahead, and then he crashed to the ground
throwing his rider like a catapult, and then slid and rolled. He half
got up, fell back, and kicked; but his rider never moved.

The other raiders sawed the reins of plunging steeds and whirled to
escape the unseen battery. Gale slipped a fresh clip into the magazine
of his rifle. He restrained himself from useless firing and gave eager
eye to the duel below. Ladd began to shoot while Sol was running. The
.405 rang out sharply--then again. The heavy bullets streaked the dust
all the way across the valley. Ladd aimed deliberately and pulled
slowly, unmindful of the kicking dust-puffs behind Sol, and to the
side. The raiders spurred madly in pursuit, loading and firing. They
shot ten times while Ladd shot once, and all in vain; and on Ladd's
sixth shot a raider topped backward, threw his carbine and fell with
his foot catching in a stirrup. The frightened horse plunged away,
dragging him in a path of dust.

Gale had set himself to miss nothing of that fighting race, yet the
action passed too swiftly for clear sight of all. Ladd had emptied a
magazine, and now Blanco Sol quickened and lengthened his running
stride. He ran away from his pursuers. Then it was that the ranger's
ruse was divined by the raiders. They hauled sharply up and seemed to
be conferring. But that was a fatal mistake. Blanco Sol was seen to
break his gait and slow down in several jumps, then square away and
stand stockstill. Ladd fired at the closely grouped raiders. An
instant passed. Then Gale heard the spat of a bullet out in front, saw
a puff of dust, then heard the lead strike the rocks and go whining
away. And it was after this that one of the raiders fell prone from
his saddle. The steel-jacketed .405 had gone through him on its
uninterrupted way to hum past Gale's position.

The remaining two raiders frantically spurred their horses and fled up
the valley. Ladd sent Sol after them. It seemed to Gale, even though
he realized his excitement, that Blanco Sol made those horses seem like
snails. The raiders split, one making for the eastern outlet, the
other circling back of the mesquites. Ladd kept on after the latter.
Then puffs of white smoke and rifle shots faintly crackling told Jim
Lash's hand in the game. However, he succeeded only in driving the
raider back into the valley. But Ladd had turned the other hor