at her an instant, then he put his revolver into his
belt.

"All right, then, to oblige you; but you must hurry home!" He hastened
across the street and rapped on the office door.

"Who's thar?" called out Washburn from his bed.

"Me--Westerfelt."

There was a sound of bare feet on the floor inside and the door opened.

"What's up?" asked Washburn, sleepily.

"I want my horse; there's a gang of Whitecaps coming down the Hawkbill,
and it looks like they are after me."

"My God!" Washburn began fumbling along the wall. "Where's the
matches? Here's one!" He scratched it and lighted his lantern. "I'll
git yore hoss. Stand heer, Mr. Westerfelt, an' ef I ain't quick enough
make a dash on foot fer that strip o' woods over thar in the field.
The fences would keep 'em from followin', an' you might dodge 'em."

When Washburn had gone into the stable, Westerfelt looked towards
Harriet. She had walked only a few yards down the street and stood
under the trees. He stepped out into the moonlight and signalled her
to go on, but she refused to move. He heard Washburn swearing inside
the stable, and asked what the matter was.

"I've got the bridles all tangled to hell," he answered.

"Hurry; anything will do!"

The Whitecaps had left the mountain-side and were now in sight on the
level road. A minute more and Westerfelt would be a captive. He might
get across the street unnoticed and hide himself in the blacksmith's
shop, but they would be sure to look for him there. If he tried to go
through the fields they would see him and shoot him down like a rabbit.

"Heer you are; which door, back or front?" cried Washburn.

"Front, quick! I've got to run for it! I'm a good mind to stand and
make a fight of it."

"Oh no; hell, no! Mr. Westerfelt."

Washburn slid the big door open and kicked the horse in the stomach as
he led him out.

"Git up, quick! They are at the branch. Blast it, they heerd the
door--they've broke into a gallop!"

As Westerfelt put his foot into the stirrup he saw Harriet Floyd glide
out of sight into the blacksmith's shop. She had determined not to
desert him. As he sprang up, the girth snapped, and the saddle and
blanket fell under his feet.

"God, they are on us!" gasped Washburn. One of the gang raised a
shout, and they came on with increased speed.

"Up! Up!" cried Washburn, kicking the saddle out of his way. "Quick!
What's the matter?" Westerfelt felt a twinge in his old wo