A pink flush came slowly up along her throat to dye her cheeks and chin. The slow heave inside her which she knew for the dangerous “stirrings” seemed to slow the beating of her heart to a ponderous stroke. “Then you’ll have to take me,” she said curtly, “for I’ll not ride a step with any one from Sky Line.” She swung into her saddle and struck her heels to Buckskin’s sides in a forlorn hope of escape—little Buckskin, stocky, slow and faithful. Provine laughed again and dashed forward with a leap of his grey Silvertip that put him alongside in a second. “Ain’t no use, purty,” he said and caught her rein. He turned the little horse up the slope, Caldwell fell in close behind and in a matter of two minutes Nance Allison was a prisoner headed for Sky Line Ranch. The pink flush was gone entirely from her face, leaving it pale as wax. Her lips were faintly ashen. “You needn’t be so scared,” said the irrepressible Provine, “we won’t hurt you.” The girl turned her eyes upon him and they were black with the dilation of the pupils which always accompanied extreme emotion in her. “Scared?” she said thickly, “I was never less scared in my life.” With the words she was conscious of a passionate longing for the feel of her Pappy’s old gun in her hands. “Help me, Lord!” she whispered inaudibly, “Oh, my God, be not far from me!” They followed no trail, but cut through thicket and glade in a lifting angle well calculated to bring them out at the cluster of buildings at the foot of Rainbow Cliff. This was new country to Nance. She had never been so high on Mystery Ridge. She noticed how the buck-brush and manzanita had given place to yew and pine and fir tree, how the slants steepened sharply as they neared the summit. She had told the truth when she said she was not frightened. There was no fear in her, only a deep and surging anger that seemed to make her lungs labor for sufficient air. Her usually smiling lips were set together in a thin line. To a student of physiognomy she would have presented an appearance of volcanic repression, her very calmness would have been a danger signal. But the two men who formed her guard were not of sufficient mental keenness to read the silent signs. So, in silence, save for Provine’s occasional jesting observations, they climbed the breast of the great ridge and presently struck into the well-worn trail which led direct to Sky Line. The sun was well over toward the west and the towering rock-face was resplendent in its magic tints when they rode out of the clump of pines and saw the ranch house sitting low and spreading above its high veranda, in the open. At the broad steps to the right Nance was ordered to dismount. Provine took Buckskin and Caldwell motioned her to ascend the steps. With her head up and her mouth tight shut Nance Allison strode forward into the stronghold of her enemies. The door was open, and she saw first only a pale darkness within as she stopped on the threshold.