The neighing of his horse in the thicket near by roused him from the benumbing horror which had bound him like a trance. He mounted the fiery animal, and struck him fiercely with his spur. The mustang darted forward at a breakneck speed, and with flying hoofs carried his rider over the steep trail which led from the cabin to the house of the San Rosario Ranch. It was a rude road, sometimes merely indicated by signs on the trees, at other places worn by the feet of cattle; it led through dry river-courses and down precipitous planes, through tangled brakes and over desolate, blackened spaces where fire had passed and blasted the trees, leaving them dead and gray, with naked branches and bare roots. No vegetation was here; only black, dry soil. It was a dangerous journey, none too safe at any time; but neither rider nor steed hesitated at sharp turns or steep descents; and the pace slackened not, though the horse foamed at the mouth and the man’s face and hands were cut to bleeding by the low-hanging branches of the thorn-tree. Twenty-five miles, at the lowest rating, lay between the cabin and the house. How well Graham knew the way! How often he had passed over it with Hal and O’Neil!--a jolly trio of sportsmen. The very day before he had loitered along the same route, taking the whole day to accomplish the distance, walking sometimes with his horse following him, and never travelling at a greater speed than an easy trot. How different his thoughts had been then, when he had fancied that he had found a closer companionship than that of a loving woman’s heart. Now he saw not the trees nor the wood creatures,--only that one villanous face, with its freshly bleeding wounds, with its old scar red and ugly.