She went south toward the Black Coulee and she thanked her stars that her riders were grazing the herds north toward the Cup Rim. Here there was none to say her nay, to urge her with loving solicitude to go back. The miles sped backward and she scarce noted their travel. She drew the king down a bit, slowed him from the swooping run, set him into the wonderful rock-and-away of the singlefoot and retied the ribbon on her hair. She wore no hat this day and the tawny cloud of her hair fluffed back from her forehead, straining at its bands, its loose ends standing up like fairy stuff all over her head. So, with her two arms held high above her and the reins in her teeth, she rode down by the mouth of Black Coulee--and up from the depths of the rugged wash that split the plain for seven miles there came across her path a man on a great bay horse. Courtrey on Bolt! She knew the beautiful animal even so far away. It did not need the challenging toss of El Rey's head, the piercing scream that rang from his open mouth across the silence, nor the sudden lunge and strain against the bit. That was Bolt, the mighty, and no mistake. None but Arrow carried his splendid head so regally, _none_ other bore so huge a cloud of mane on his arching neck, so long a tail that spread like a fan between his knees and almost swept the ground. So, Courtrey came out of the Coulee to meet her! He would, maybe, force the issue. But Tharon was not ready for that. What was plain killing? No, she wanted more than that. She wanted to see him scourged and beaten, humiliated and robbed as he had robbed Lost Valley. So she turned El Rey, though it took the whole strength of her young arms, and headed him back the way they had come. With the first turn and straightening leap her heart thumped hard against her ribs. There, between her and the Holding, far distant, there were two riders--and they rode bay horses, both! She made no doubt that they were Wylackie Bob and Black Bart, on Arrow and Slingshot. A sudden mist of fear came across her eyes. A tightening caught her throat. She looked around the illimitable spaces that stretched away on all sides. There was nothing in all the spreading plains but the three riders, sprung from nowhere, it seemed, and herself. Courtrey came rapidly up toward her, swinging a bit to the west. The others, set somewhat apart to right and left, bore down upon her. It looked very much as if they meant to ride her down to the Black Coulee. Once in its sheltering deep wash she would be helpless, cut off from escape. The Black Coulee went back into the eastern hills, lost itself up in the rugged and torturous clefts and chasms that cut the unknown ramparts, dark with forest and mysterious. No! Not the Black Coulee and Courtrey to take her prisoner!