"Poor brute's got a twisted shoulder--I'll have to ride him slow after I rub him down," Pete said, mournfully enough. "I can't make any kind of speed on him. Ride on, you fellows! Don't let that skunk get away!" It was the law and custom of the range. When a chase was on, if one failed and fell behind, the other, or others, must keep going. It was a hard law, but life on the range was not easy, nor was it one for children. "All right!" called Dave, recognizing the necessity for prompt action. "We'll get him!" "And watch out for him," Pete warned them. "He'll be desperate if he finds you're closing in on him." "We'll watch out," said Mr. Bellmore. Again he and Dave dashed on, leaving Pete to minister to his injured horse. The foreman at once proceeded to rub vigorously the strained shoulder with a bunch of grass. His steed winced it the pain, but seemed to know it was for its own good. "I'll have to go back," Pete said, mournfully. "But I hope they catch that skunk!" It was the meanest name he could think of to call Len Molick. The chase was resumed. Pete's accident had cost Dave and his companion some precious moments and they had lost distance. But they felt that, eventually, they must win. For their horses were fresher than was the mount of the youth who had set the fire, and already they had appreciably lessened the distance between them. Len's horse had shown a wonderful burst of speed at first, and he had secured a quick start. "But it won't do him any good," said Dave. "We'll have him ridden down in ten minutes more." "I hope so," murmured Mr. Bellmore, "Why. Can't Kurd stand it?" "Oh, yes, but I'm afraid I can't. This is more riding than I've done since I had my accident, and my ankle is paining me." "Say, you drop out," Dave urged him. "I can manage Len all right." "Indeed I'll not drop out! I'm going to stay in to the finish, but I'll be glad when it comes. This Western life is, indeed, rough and ready, Dave." "Then you're not a Westerner by birth?" "No, I came from the East. I'll have to tell you my story some day. It's rather a curious one." Dave reflected that his own was, also, but he was not so sure he wanted to tell it. Every day had increased his admiration for Mr. Bellmore, but there are some facts that we keep even from our best friends. They were on a downward slope now, and the going was better. Slowly but surely they were overtaking Len. Now and then he glanced back over his shoulder, as if to measure the distance separating him from his pursuers. "Do you think he'll shoot?" asked Mr. Bellmore. "He may," said Dave, calmly. "He's a big enough bully to do so, but he's the worst shot you ever heard of. I really believe he's afraid of a gun." "Still, sometimes those chaps make a bull's-eye out of pure luck." "We've got to take the chance," Dave said. "Keep well down on your horse's neck."