ider sharply outlined. The distance diminished
under the terrific spurt of the police horses, and a confident look
began to dawn in the eyes of their riders.

They were gaining so rapidly that it seemed hardly necessary to press
their bronchos so hard. The top of the hill was still a quarter of a
mile away. The fugitive's evidently wearying beast could never make
that last final incline. The man would be forced to turn and defend
himself or yield for very helplessness. The whole thing was too easy.
It was absurdly easy. Nor could there be any sort of a "scrap." They
were ten to one. It was disappointing. These riders of the plains
reveled in a genuine fight.

But Fyles's contentment suddenly received a disconcerting shock. Peter
was stretching out like a greyhound. The pace at which they pursued
the hunted hare was terrific. But now, although they were, if
anything, traveling faster, they seemed to be no longer gaining. The
three hundred yards intervening had, in that first rush, been reduced
to nearly one hundred. But, somehow, to his disquiet Fyles now
realized that there was no further encroachment.

He shook Peter up and left his companions behind. But it quickly
became evident he could make no further impression. If anything, his
quarry was gaining. An unpleasant conviction began to make itself felt
in the mind of the policeman. The man had been foxing. He had been
saving his horse up for that hill, calculating to a fraction the
distance he had yet to go.

He called to his men to race for it.

They came up on his heels. The man nearest to him was a corporal.

"We're not done with him yet, corporal," he said grimly. "I wanted to
get him without trouble. Guess we'll have to bail him up. Once over
the top of that hill, he runs into the bush on the outskirts of the
village. We daren't risk it."

The corporal's eyes lit.

"Shall we open out and give him a round, sir?"

Fyles nodded.

"Let 'em fire low. Bring his horse down."

The corporal turned back to his men, and gave the necessary order.

"Open out!" he cried. "It's just over a hundred yards. Fire low, and
get his horse. We'll be on him before he can pick himself up."

"There's fifty dollars between you if you can bring him down and keep
his skin whole," added Fyles.

Still keeping their pace, the men spread out from the trail,
withdrawing the carbines from their leather buckets as they rode. Then
came the ominous clicking of the breeches as cartri