Tharon was frightened. Not for herself. Not for the intent of the men who came after her. Not for gun-fire, nor for capture. She was afraid for the king! Afraid that Bolt could hold that wonderful pace! Then a surging rage rose and sickened her. She leaned down again and called once more into the stallion's ear and once more the note rose a notch. She felt that great pulsing seeming of reserve. Always when she called there was the answer. The plain swam beneath her like a blur. The thunder of the king's hoofs was a single note also. Then Tharon raised her eyes and saw that she had left the open land behind. The mountains were rising swiftly before, she was sweeping up their skirts. Trees flew by. She heard the singing of waters. The forests seemed to come down out of the skies to meet her, dark, forbidding. She felt a sense of disaster, of helplessness. Where was she going, she and El Rey, with her enemies behind and coming fast? What was to be the end of the race? And then, all suddenly, the woods seemed to fall away on either side, a gateway to open up before her. A lovely open glade spread into the heart of the forest and the great king thundered in between the guarding pines. Like a silver flame he shot up the sloping floor, slowed, changed and came to stop before a cabin that sat securely at the glade's head. With the crashing pound of El Rey's ploughing hoofs upon the very stones at the step, a man came quickly from the interior of the cabin and stepped out, his hand lifted. Tharon Last, her hair beating on her shoulders, her face pale as ashes, her breast heaving, looked back toward the opening in the trees, and saw Courtrey swing in a wide arc and circle past to disappear toward the north. After him swept his two lieutenants, to fade swiftly from sight behind the shielding forest. A grim expression spread over the face of the man at the step as he, too, beheld the end of the vital play. Then he looked up at the girl on the silver stallion and his dark eyes were alight. "What's this?" he asked abruptly. Then Tharon seemed to become conscious of him for the first time. She looked down at him and the black pupils were spread across the azure of her eyes, making them strangely exciting in their straight glance. "This," she said, panting, "is some of the law of Lost Valley. Courtrey's law. That is the man I'm goin' to kill some day." Kenset felt the blood flow back upon his heart, an icy flood. The words were simple, sincere, unconscious of dramatic effect. They were as final as death itself, and he dropped his eyes unconsciously to the two guns at her hips. He wondered why she had ridden without a shot this time. He found his lips suddenly dry and moistened them before he spoke. "Why?" he asked, and his voice sounded strange to him. "Because," said Tharon simply, "because he kissed me--once--an' shot my daddy--in th' back, th' hound!" "God!" said Kenset