She had thought--after she had left the promontory--of concealing herself somewhere in the valley, to wait until she discovered who the men were and what their errand was; but she had a fear that if the men were Deveny's outlaws they might return up the valley and accidentally come upon her. Also, she had yielded to the homing instinct which is strong in all living beings, for at home was safety that could not be found elsewhere. The South Trail, she knew, converged with the valley trail at the edge of the level. If she could reach that point a few minutes before the horsemen reached it she would rely on Billy to maintain his lead. Billy would have to maintain it! Leaning far over Billy's mane she urged him on, coaxing him, flattering him, calling to him in terms of endearment. And the loyal little animal did his best, running as he had never run before. Barbara though, watching the horsemen with eyes into which there had come a glow of doubt, began to realize that Billy was losing the race. Also, by the time she had gone four or five miles, she discovered that the men had seen her. For the trails were growing close together now--not more than half a mile of slightly broken country stretched between them, and she could see the men waving their hats; could hear their voices above the whir and clatter of Billy's passing. Still, she was determined to win, and Billy's flanks felt the sting of the quirt that, hitherto, had swung from Barbara's wrist. Billy revealed a marvelous burst of speed. But it did not last, and the horsemen, after hanging for an instant abreast of Billy, began to forge ahead. The courageous little animal had almost reached the covert that Harlan had discovered the day he had visited the Star the first time, and was nobly answering the stern urge of the quirt when another horseman suddenly appeared on the trail directly ahead of the girl, seemingly having ridden out of the covert. The trail was narrow, and Billy could not swerve around the new rider. So, sensing the danger of a collision he stiffened his legs, making a sliding halt that carried him a dozen feet, leaving him upon his haunches with Barbara frantically trying to keep to the saddle. Then Billy's forehoofs came down; he grunted, heaved a tremendous sigh and stood, his legs braced, awaiting orders. No order came. For no words escaped Barbara's lips. She sat in the saddle, her face ashen, terror clutching her. For the horseman who had ridden out of the covert was Stroud, the Rancho Seco straw-boss. He was grinning, and in his eyes was a gloating triumph that she could not mistake. "Lucky I took a notion to come in this mornin'," he said. "I just got here. I seen you hittin' the breeze for fair while you was quite a piece up the basin; an' I seen Deveny an' the boys a-fannin' it, too. An' I says to myself: 'Stroud, here's Deveny racin' to see Miss Barbara, an' her actin' like she don't want to see him. But I'll fix it so she does.'"