For a moment, the light blinded Wayland's sight; for the sun had come up in an orange fan; and the sky was not blue: it shone the dazzling silver of mercury. Against the high rarefied air came in view the figure of a man, grotesquely exaggerated, head and shoulders first, then body, riding a heavy horse, saddleless, hatless, coatless, white of hair, heels pressed to his horse's flanks, bent far over the animal's neck as Indians ride, galloping for the Rim Rock trail, or a second jump from the battlements. Wayland stood up in his stirrups and with hands trumpeted uttered a yell. The rider jerked his horse to a rear flounder, waved frantically, then split the air-- "Glory be to the powers--but--A'm glad to see you! A've headed them off from the South trail. We've got them, Wayland, the low dastard scoundrels! We've got them trapped like rats in a trap! They're in the Pass if you've a man in the Valley with spirit enough to get out with a gun!" He stopped for breath as the two horses floundered together. "We haven't," answered Wayland. "They jumped the gully! Man alive, y' ought t' seen them jump the gully! A slammed them right down into the bottom of it. A would to God 't had been to the bottomless pit. The same gentry A saw that night under your Ridge, saving his High Mightiness. The evil fellow wi' the sheep hide leggings, an' the one armed blackguard in the cow-boy slicker, an' the corduroy dandy wi' the red tie, an' four more of them same card-sharp gentry. A rode 'long the top of y'r gully an' poured six bullets after 'em! Man alive! A heard the fellow in the yellow slicker yell bloody murder when A fired! A'm hopin'--God forgive me--A've nipped him in the other arm an' brought him winged t' th' throne o' Grace! They followed the gully bed behind y'r Mountain, the white horse same as yon night under y'r Ridge, limpin', the one armed man rockin' in the saddle an' spittin' out blasphemous filth for th' others to wait. A've kept guard all night, yellin' an' howlin' like a vigilantee, knowin' they're not the gentry to run into the arms of them good old-time neck-tie com'tees; an' not dreamin' A hadn't another cartridge to my name!" The old man swabbed the sweat from his brow. "A left m' coat and togs back at yon chuck wagon!" Wayland noticed he was riding stocking soled. "I have an extra hat for you here." Wayland tossed the soft felt from the pocket of his leather coat. "Oh, A saw 'em plain enough; same ill-lookin' six that y'r hell-kite laws hatch on a bad frontier! Make no mistake. Yon white vest is at the bottom o' this deviltry! Who is he, Wayland?" Wayland related the visit of a white-vest to his Ridge cabin; and they trotted forward towards a sheep wagon. "How did y' come up here?" asked the old frontiersman. "Where did you get that horse?" retorted the Ranger. "One of the chuck wagons' teams--"