The race was literally one for life, and the pace was terrific. To the girl it seemed like some fearful dream. Sky and earth, the great mountain rampart reared up in front, all blended together in rocking confusion during that mad race. The yells of the pursuing barbarians sounded horribly nearer, and the pursued could almost hear the whistle of their uncouth trappings as they streamed out on the breeze. Vipan, reaching over, lashed her horse with a thong which he detached from his saddle. The animal sprang forward, but the spurt was only momentary. And the war-ponies were horribly fresh. Nearer, nearer. The great rock walls dominating the entrance to the pass loomed up large and distinct. Again he glanced back at the pursuers. Yes, they were gaining. It was more a race than a pursuit-- the goal that grim rock-bound pass. Even should the fugitives reach it, what then? Their chances would still be of the slenderest. Ah, the horror of it! Yseulte, white to the lips, kept her seat by an effort of will, her heart melting with deadly fear. Her companion, fully determined she should never fall alive into the hands of the savages, held his pistol ready, first for them, then for her, his heart burning with bitter curses on his own blind and besotted negligence. It was too late now. They were to founder in sight of land. Ah, the bitterness of it! Bang! The whiz of a bullet, simultaneously with a puff of blue smoke--this time in front. Vipan ground his teeth. There was no escape, they were between two fires. But the regular thunder of the pursuing hoofs seemed to undergo a change. What did it mean? Bang! Then a glance over his shoulder told him that as the second ball came whizzing into their midst, the painted warriors had swerved, throwing themselves on the further side of their horses. Only for a moment, though. Realising that this new enemy represented but a single unit, they hurled themselves forward with redoubled ardour, yelling hideously. "The gulch, pardner! Streak for the gulch!" sung out a stentorian voice; and sending another bullet among the on-rushing redskins, this time with effect, Smokestack Bill kicked up his horse, which had been lying prone, and in half a minute was flying side by side with his friend. Short though this check had been, yet it had given them a momentary advantage. But, now, as they neared the mouth of the pass, it became clear to these two experienced Indian fighters that one of them must give his life for the rest. "Take the young lady on," said the scout. "You're in it together, and must get out of it together. Reckon I'll stand them back long enough for you to strike cover." Here was a temptation. Vipan knew well that it was so. A short ten minutes would save her--would save them both. His friend could hold the bloodthirsty savages in check for more than that. A struggle raged within him--a bitter struggle--but he conquered.