He was gone then, with a thudding of boots and a ringing of spurs as he ran from the room, struck into the trail and went down among the pines at a pace which threatened a nasty fall at every stride. And Benny, left alone, whimpered aloud and tugged ineffectually at the knots which held him captive in his chair. After a short interval, he stopped the struggling and strained forward to listen. No sound reached his ears except the low, sweet, throaty tweeting of quail as they ran swiftly over the rocks, under a clump of brush and disappeared. The world was very quiet and peaceful ... only in the man's heart was storm.... Bayard ran on down the trail toward the edge of the timber where he might look out on the valley and see those two riders he had followed and passed without seeing. He had no plan. He would tell Lytton to go back, would _make_ him go back, with nothing but his will and his naked hands. He wanted to laugh as he ran, for his relief was great; there was to be no killing that day, no blood was to be on his conscience, no tragedy was to stand between him and the woman who had called for aid. His pace became reckless, for the descent was steep and, when he emerged from the timber, his whole attention was centered on keeping himself upright and overcoming his momentum. When he could stop, he lifted his eyes to the country below him, searched quickly for the figures of Ned and his wife and swore in perplexity. He did not see sign of a moving creature. He knew that there was no depression in that part of the valley deep enough to hide them from him as he stood on that vantage point. Had Lynch been mistaken? Had he deceived him artfully? He looked about bewildered, wholly at a loss to explain the situation. Then ran on, searching the trail for indication of passing horses. They could not have turned back and ridden from sight in the short time that had elapsed since Benny saw them ... if he had seen them. Where could they go, but on to the mine? The worn trail still led him down grade, though the pitch was not so severe as it had been higher up; however, he did not realize the distance he was from timber when he came upon fresh horse tracks. They had ridden up to that point at a walk; they had stopped there, and when they went on they had swerved to the right and ridden for the hills with horses at a gallop. Bayard read the tell-tale signs in an instant, wheeled, looked up at the abrupt slopes above him and cried, "He's gone around for some reason ... in a hurry.... To come into camp from behind!" And trembling at thought of what might be happening back there in the cabin, he started up the trail, running laboriously against the steep rise of the hill. CHAPTER XVIII THE FIGHT Bayard had guessed rightly. After miles of silent riding Lytton had pulled his horse up with a jerk, had laid a hand on Ann's bridle and checked her pony with another wrench. "Who's that?" he growled, staring at Bayard.