The bullet ploughed into the flank of Clark's pony. The animal gave a frightened, pained squeal and a terrific buck. Utterly unprepared as Clark was for such a contingency, he was shot through the air over the pony's head, and landed with a crash on the hard ground. His rifle flew out of his hand in the opposite direction, while his pony, which was only slightly wounded, galloped, riderless, off. "Well, I hope you're satisfied now," growled Clark, raising himself on one elbow and gazing vindictively at Rob, who this time took no chances and kept his enemy covered. Clark, for all he knew, might have a revolver concealed about him. "I'm not the one to be satisfied," rejoined Rob. "That is for Mr. Harkness to be. I should advise you to tell him the truth." At that instant the sound of trampling hoofs was heard off to the south. It was the belated band of cow-punchers, headed by Mr. Harkness, sweeping at top speed in the direction of the retreating chase. "Co-ee-ee!" yelled Rob. "Who is it?" came back the hail. "Rob Blake. I want to see you." "Don't stop us now, Rob," came back Mr. Harkness's voice, "unless it is something serious. We don't want to lose that rascal Jennings." "If you'll come this way, you can't miss him," called Rob cheerfully. "Confound you, Rob Blake! I'll get even with you some day for this!" growled Clark, utterly dumfounded by the unexpected arrival of Mr. Harkness. A few seconds later the perhaps equally astonished rancher and his men loped up. A shrill cheer broke from the punchers as they saw the leader of the cattle raiders ingloriously squatted on the ground, nursing a sprained wrist and scowling like a cornered wildcat. "Well done, Rob," cried Mr. Harkness, as he saw the crestfallen raider. "Here, Blinky, just take a few turns round this fellow with a rope. Joyce," to another of the punchers, "you stay here and guard him. We'll take no chance with so slippery a customer." The rancher drew out an electric flash torch and illumined the scene. Suddenly his eyes fell on a dark, wet patch on Rob's shoulder. "Why, boy, you are wounded!" he cried. "Oh, just a touch. The bullet tore the flesh. It isn't anything," protested Rob. "What, he fired at you?" "Yes," Clark answered brutally, "and I'm sorry I didn't kill him!" An examination of Rob's injury showed that it was only a slight flesh wound, and after it had been wrapped up with a strip of his shirt to keep dirt out till proper remedies could be applied, he mounted Joyce's pony, and the cavalcade swept on once more, leaving the appointed cow-puncher behind to guard Clark Jennings. "Hullo," exclaimed Mr. Harkness suddenly, as they rode on. "I believe something's happening up ahead." Indeed, it seemed so. Shouts and yells and imprecations filled the air. Suddenly a volley of shots sounded, and a sharp cry rang out. "Good gracious! They're shooting to kill!" cried Rob, dashing forward. Mr. Harkness and the cow-punchers were close on his heels.