of the moon. It left his work doubly difficult.
He wondered----

But his wonder ceased, and he fell like a stone out of the saddle. He
struggled fiercely, but his arms were held to his sides immovable. He
had a vague recollection of a swift whirring sound, but that was all.
Then he found himself struggling furiously on the ground with his
horse vanished.

* * * * *

Inspector Fyles was thinking of many things. His post was at a point
overlooking the Fort Alberton trail, which wound its way in the wide
trough of two great, still waves of prairieland directly in front of
him. Nothing could pass that way and remain unobserved, excepting
under cover of the storm which seemed to be gathering.

He patted Peter's arched neck, and the well-mannered, amiable creature
responded by champing its bit impatiently. Fyles smiled. He knew that
Peter loved to be traveling far and fast.

He turned his eyes skywards. Perhaps it was not a storm. There were
breaks here and there, and occasionally a star peeped out and twinkled
mockingly at him. Still, he must hope for the best. A storm would
favor his quarry, besides being----. Hark!

A shot rang out in the distance, away to the east. One--two! Wait. A
third! There it was. To the east. They were coming on over the
southern trail, and that was in McBain's section!

He lifted his reins, and Peter promptly laid his swift heels to the
ground. Three shots. Fyles hoped the fourth would not be fired until
he was within striking distance of the spot.

* * * * *

Four horsemen were converging upon the bluff whence the shots had
proceeded. Each of the four had heard the three shots fired, each was
executing the tactical arrangement agreed upon, and each was waiting
as he rode, laboring under a high nervous tension, for the fourth
shot, which was to confirm the alarm and notify the definite discovery
of the contraband.

It was withheld.

Fyles was the first to reach the bluff, but, almost at the same
moment, McBain's great horse drew up with a jolt. The inspector saw
the approach of his subordinate while his eyes were still searching
the skirts of the bluff for the patrol who had given the signal.

"He should be on the southeast side," said McBain, and rode off in
that direction. Fyles followed hard upon his heels.

They had gone less than two hundred yards when the officer saw the
shadowy form of the Scot throw itself back