“I've never ridden bareback. Suppose you go ahead with Silver, and I'll hide in the cedars till dark, then walk home!” “No--No. There's time, but hurry.” “It's got to be strong,” muttered Hare, holding the strap over his knee and pulling the laced knot with all his strength, “for we'll have to ride some. If it comes loose--Good-bye!” Silvermane's broad chest muscles rippled and he stamped restlessly. The dog whined and looked back. Mescal had the blanket smooth on the gray when Hare threw the saddle over him. The yells had ceased, but clattering hoofs on the stony trail were a greater menace. While Hare's brown hands worked swiftly over buckle and strap Mescal climbed to a seat behind the saddle. “Get into the saddle,” said Hare, leaping astride and pressing forward over the pommel. “Slip down--there! and hold to me. Go! Silver!” The rapid pounding of the stallion's hoofs drowned the clatter coming up the trail. A backward glance relieved Hare, for dust-clouds some few hundred yards in the rear showed the position of the pursuing horsemen. He held in Silvermane to a steady gallop. The trail was up-hill, and steep enough to wind even a desert racer, if put to his limit. “Look back!” cried Mescal. “Can you see them? Is Snap with them?” “I can't see for trees,” replied Hare, over his shoulder. “There's dust- -we're far in the lead--never fear, Mescal. The lead's all we want.” Cedars grew thickly all the way up the steeper part of the divide, and ended abruptly at a pathway of stone, where the ascent became gradual. When Silvermane struck out of the grove upon this slope Hare kept turning keen glances rearward. The dust cloud rolled to the edge of the cedars, and out of it trooped half-a-dozen horsemen who began to shoot as soon as they had reached the open. Bullets zipped along the red stone, cutting little puffs of red dust, and sung through the air. “Good God!” cried Hare. “They're firing on us! They'd shoot a woman!” “Has it taken you so long to learn that?” Hare slashed his steed with the switch. But Silvermane needed no goad or spur; he had been shot at before, and the whistle of one bullet was sufficient to stretch his gallop into a run. Then distance between him and his pursuers grew wider and wider and soon he was out of range. The yells of the rustlers seemed at first to come from baffled rage, but Mescal's startled cry showed their meaning. Other horsemen appeared ahead and to the right of him, tearing down the ridge to the divide. Evidently they had been returning from the western curve of Coconina. The direction in which Silvermane was stretching was the only possible one for Hare. If he swerved off the trail to the left it would be upon rough rising ground. Not only must he outride this second band to the point where the trail went down on the other side of the divide, but also he must get beyond it before they came within rifle range.