Then, when she caught the horse, she had some trouble getting into the saddle, though she succeeded after a while, groaning, and grunting, and whimpering. But Martha forgot her pains and misery once she was in the saddle again, and she rode fast, trembling with eagerness, her sympathies and her concern solely for the white girl who, she supposed, was a prisoner in the hands of the ruthless and unprincipled man that Martha, with her limited vocabulary, had termed many times a “rapscallion.” Martha headed her horse straight for the Mullarky cabin, guided by a faint shaft of light that issued from one of its windows. When she reached the cabin she found no one there but Mrs. Mullarky. Ben, Mrs. Mullarky told Martha, had gone to Dawes—in fact, he had been in Dawes all day, she supposed, for he had left home early that morning. Martha gasped out her news, and Mrs. Mullarky’s face whitened. While Martha watched her in astonishment, she tore off the gingham apron that adorned her, threw it into a corner, and ran into another room, from which she emerged an instant later carrying a rifle. The Irishwoman’s face was pale and set, and the light of a great wrath gleamed in her eyes. Martha, awed by the woman’s belligerent appearance, could only stand and blink at her, her mouth gaping with astonishment. “You go right on to the Arrow!” she commanded Martha, as she went out of the door; “mebbe you’ll find somebody there by this time, an’ if you do, send them to the big house. I’m goin’ over there right this minute to take that dear little girl away from that big brute!” She started while Martha was again painfully mounting her horse, and the two women rode away in opposite directions—Martha whimpering with pain, and Mrs. Mullarky silent, grim, with a wild rage gripping her heart. * * * * * Taylor, on Spotted Tail, was approaching the Arrow ranchhouse at a speed slightly greater than that into which the big horse had fallen shortly after he had left the gorge. The spirited animal was just warming to his work, and he was doing his best when he flashed past the big cattle corral, going with the noise of rushing wind. In an instant he was at the long stretch of fence which formed the ranchyard side of the horse corral, and in another instant he was sliding to a halt near the edge of the front porch of the ranchhouse itself. There he drew a deep breath and looked inquiringly at his master, while the latter slid off his back, leaped upon the porch, and with a bound crossed the porch floor, knocking chairs helter-skelter as he went. The house was dark, but Taylor ran through the rooms, calling sharply for Parsons and Marion, but receiving no reply. When he emerged from the house his face, in the light of the moon that had climbed above the horizon some time before, was like that of a man who has just looked upon the dead face of his best friend.