he right and giving him the spur, he sent
him on a swift, zigzagging scramble up the smooth slope. A third
rifle-shot echoed from the cliff, and was answered by a smaller weapon,
much nearer, and, with his hair almost on end with excitement, he
reached the summit which commanded the whole valley of the Otter, just
in time to witness the most astounding drama he had ever known.

Down the rough logging road from the west a team of horses was wildly
galloping, pursued at a distance by several horsemen, whose weapons,
spitting smoke at intervals, gave proof of their murderous intent. In
the clattering, tossing wagon a man was kneeling, rifle in hand, while a
woman, standing recklessly erect, urged the flying horses to greater
speed. Nothing could have been more desperate, more furious, than this
running battle.

"My God! It's the Kauffman team!" he exclaimed, and with a shrill shout
snatched his revolver from its holster and fired into the air, with
intent to announce his presence to the assailing horsemen. Even as he
did so he saw one of the far-off pursuing ruffians draw his horse to a
stand and take deliberate aim over his saddle at the flying wagon. The
off pony dropped in his traces, and the vehicle, swinging from the road,
struck a boulder and sent the man hurtling over the side; but the girl,
crouching low, kept her place. Almost before the wheels had ceased to
revolve she caught up the rifle which her companion had dropped and sent
a shot of defiance toward her pursuers.

"Brave girl!" shouted Hanscom, for he recognized Helen. "Hold the fort!"
But his voice, husky with excitement, failed to reach her.

She heard the sound of his revolver, however, and, believing him to be
only another of the attacking party, took aim at him and fired. The
bullet from her rifle flew so near his head that he heard its song.

Again her rifle flashed, this time at the man above her, and again the
forester shouted her name. In the midst of the vast and splendid
landscape she seemed a minute brave insect defending itself against
invading beasts. Her pursuers, recognizing the ranger's horse, wheeled
their ponies and disappeared in the forest.

Hanscom spurred his horse straight toward the girl, calling her name,
but even then she failed to recognize him till, lifting his hat from his
head, he desperately shouted:

"Don't shoot, girl--don't shoot! It's Hanscom--the ranger!"

She knew him at last, and, dropping her rifle to the groun