him by an uneven and
unknown trail in the dark and raced on deeper and deeper into the long
chasm. It seemed to him that he had glimpsed something moving at the
top of the cliffs just about the place whence Blenham's men had lowered
the steers. He asked no question but threw up his gun-barrel and fired
again.

From straight in front of him there came back to his ears the clang and
thud of iron horseshoes upon granite, the rattle of rocks along the
trail; now and again he saw a spark struck out underfoot. Then, far
ahead as the canon widened suddenly and a little thinning of the
darkness resulted, he made out dim, running forms, and again he fired
from his own leaping horse.

A flying bullet might find a target and it might not; at any rate the
sound of the shots volleyed and boomed echoingly between the stone
wails imprisoning them, and Barbee or one of Barbee's men should hear.
Steve was estimating hopefully as he dashed on after the fugitives and
as Terry dashed on after him, that the men at the top of the cliffs
would not try to come down now, not knowing who or how many the
attackers were, but would seek escape above.

Then, if his cowboys heard and rode toward the cliffs, it was all in
the cards that they might intercept at least a couple of Blenham's
tools.

A running form almost at his side drew his attention briefly, and all
but drew hot, questing lead after it. Then he made out that it was but
one of the stolen steers, abandoned now; he pressed by, firing time
after time into the canon ahead of him. And behind him he heard
Terry's voice, eager and fearless, crying out:

"Good boy, Steve Packard! We'll get 'em yet!"

A spurt of flame from far ahead and close to the wall of the canon, the
crack of another rifle, long drawn out, and the whine of a bullet
singing its vicious way overhead, and again Steve fired, answering shot
with shot. He heard a man shout and fired in the direction of the
voice. And then the only sounds rising from the narrow gorge were
those of running horses and the accompanying noises of rattling stones.

Now the way was again tortuous, pitch-black, boulder-strewn. Steve
slowed down rather than break his horse's legs or his own neck, not
knowing whether to turn to right or left. In a moment of uncertainty
he felt and heard Terry push ahead of him. He heard her hurrying on
and followed, shouting to her to come back. Ten minutes later, out of
the pass now and upon a low-lyi