Blake's mind was full of the possibilities of disaster to the over-confident fugitives. The washout was fresh, and he was counting on the chance that they were not aware of its existence. If they struck it even at half speed the whole party would be hurled a hundred feet down to the edge of the river or into the current itself. In that event, some, if not all, would be seriously injured. As he neared the turn in the road, his course pointed out to him by the stars above, he was startled half out of his boots by the sudden appearance of a man, who staggered from the roadside and wobbled painfully away, pleading for mercy. "Halt, or I'll shoot!" called Jackie Blake, and the pathetic figure not only halted, but sat down in the middle of the road. "For the Lord's sake, don't shoot!" groaned a hoarse voice. "I wasn't in cahoots with them. They fooled me--they fooled me." It was Anderson Crow, and he would have gone on interminably had not Jackie Blake stopped him short. "You're the marshal, eh? The darned rube--" "Yes, I'm him. Call me anything, only don't shoot. Who are you?" groaned Anderson, rising to his knees. He was holding his revolvers by the muzzles. "Never mind who I am. I haven't time. Say, you'd better come with me. Maybe we can head off those villains. They came this way and--" "Show 'em to me," roared Anderson, recognising a friend. Rage surged up and drove out the shame in his soul. "I'll tackle the hull caboodle, dang 'em!" And he meant it, too. Blake did not stop to explain, but started on, commanding Mr. Crow to follow. With rare fore-thought the marshal donned his yellow beard as he panted in the trail of the lithe young actor. The latter remembered that the odds were heavily against him. The marshal might prove a valuable aid in case of resistance, provided, of course, that they came upon the robbers in the plight he was hoping for. "Where the dickens are you a-goin'?" wheezed the marshal, kicking up a great dust in the rear. The other did not answer. His whole soul was enveloped in the hope that the washout had trapped the robbers. He was almost praying that it might be so. The reward could be divided with the poor old marshal if-- He gave a yell of delight, an instant later, and then began jumping straight up and down like one demented. Anderson Crow stopped so abruptly that his knees were stiff for weeks. Jackie Blake's wild dream had come true. The huge automobile had struck the washout, and it was now lying at the base of the bluff, smashed to pieces on the rocks! By the dim light from the heavens, Blake could see the black hulk down there, but it was too dark to distinguish other objects. He was about to descend to the river bank when Anderson Crow came up. "What's the matter, man?" panted he. "They're down there, don't you see it? They went over the bluff right here--come on. We've got 'em!"