wept on; the man who was leading the captive's horse
by the _riata_, thinking only of another accident, dropped the line to
save himself from being dragged backwards from his horse. The captive
wheeled, and the next moment was galloping furiously up the slope.

It was the work of a moment; a trained horse and an experienced hand.
The cavalcade had covered nearly fifty yards before they could pull
up; the freed captive had covered half that distance uphill. The road
was so narrow that only two shots could be fired, and these broke dust
two yards ahead of the fugitive. They had not dared to fire low; the
horse was the more valuable animal. The fugitive knew this in his
extremity also, and would have gladly taken a shot in his own leg to
spare that of his horse. Five men were detached to recapture or kill
him. The latter seemed inevitable. But he had calculated his chances;
before they could reload he had reached the woods again; winding in
and out between the pillared tree trunks, he offered no mark. They
knew his horse was superior to their own; at the end of two hours they
returned, for he had disappeared without track or trail. The end was
briefly told in the "Sierra Record:"--

"Red Pete, the notorious horse-thief, who had so long eluded justice,
was captured and hung by the Sawyer's Crossing Vigilantes last week;
his confederate, unfortunately, escaped on a valuable horse belonging
to Judge Boompointer. The judge had refused one thousand dollars for
the horse only a week before. As the thief, who is still at large,
would find it difficult to dispose of so valuable an animal without
detection, the chances are against either of them turning up again."

THE LADY'S REFLECTIONS

[Illustration]

II

Salomy Jane watched the cavalcade until it had disappeared. Then she
became aware that her brief popularity had passed. Mrs. Red Pete,
in stormy hysterics, had included her in a sweeping denunciation of
the whole universe, possibly for simulating an emotion in which she
herself was deficient. The other women hated her for her momentary
exaltation above them; only the children still admired her as one who
had undoubtedly "canoodled" with a man "a-going to be hung"--a daring
flight beyond their wildest ambition. Salomy Jane accepted the change
with charming unconcern. She put on her yellow nankeen sunbonnet,--a
hideous affair that would have ruined any other woman, but which only
enhanced the piquancy of he