Texan swung into the saddle and headed the big blue roan up the
ravine at a run. A moment later the bay mare was following, the girl
plying quirt and spur in an endeavour to keep the flying horseman in
sight. The roan's pace slackened, and the bay mare closed up the
distance. The girl could see that the man was leaning far over studying
the ground as he rode. Suddenly, without a moment's hesitation he turned
into a side coulee, gained the bench, and headed straight for the bad
lands. The pace was slower, now. The Texan rode with his eyes glued to
the ground. She drew up beside him and, as she expected, found that he
was following the trail of two horses. The trail was easily followed in
the mud of the recent rains, and they made good time, dipping into
coulees, scrambling out, crossing ridges. Purdy had evidently wasted no
time in picking his trail, but had taken the country as it came, his one
idea evidently had been to gain the bad lands that loomed in the near
distance.

"What will he do when he gets there?" wondered the girl, as she glanced
into the set face of the man who rode with his eyes on the tracks in the
mud, "he can't follow him in. There won't be any trail."

True to her prediction, the Texan drew up at the edge of a black ridge
that cut diagonally into the treeless, soilless waste. Since he had
uttered Purdy's name at the mouth of the coulee, he had spoken no word,
and now, as he faced her, the girl saw that his face looked tense and
drawn. "You've got to go back," he said looking straight into her eyes,
"it's a blind trail from here, an' God knows where it will lead to."

"But--you--where are you going?"

"To find Purdy." There was a steely glint in the man's eyes, and his
voice grated harshly.

"But you can't find him!" she cried. "He knows the bad lands. Purdy's a
horse-thief, and if you did find him there would be others. He's one of
a gang, and--they'll kill you!"

The Texan nodded: "Maybe--an' then, again, maybe they won't. There's two
sides to this killin' game."

"But you wouldn't have a chance."

"As long as I've got a gun, I've got a chance--an' a good one."

The spirit of perversity that had prompted her to insist upon riding the
blue roan, asserted itself, "I'm going with you," she announced. "I've
got a gun, and I can shoot."

"You're goin' home." The Texan spoke quietly, yet with an air of
finality that brooked no argument. The hot blood mounted to the girl's
face, and her eyes f