“We want that fellow. He killed a man at the Gap. If we catch him over the line, we want you to hold him for us. Come along!” The red-headed sheriff sprang on his horse and grinned eagerly: “I'm your man.” “Who was that fellow?” asked Hale as they galloped. The sheriff denied knowledge with a shake of his head. “What's your name?” The sheriff looked sharply at him for the effect of his answer. “Jim Falin.” And Hale looked sharply back at him. He was one of the Falins who long, long ago had gone to the Gap for young Dave Tolliver, and now the Falin grinned at Hale. “I know you--all right.” No wonder the Falin chuckled at this Heaven-born chance to get a Tolliver into trouble. At the Lonesome Pine the traces of the fugitive's horse swerved along the mountain top--the shoe of the right forefoot being broken in half. That swerve was a blind and the sheriff knew it, but he knew where Rufe Tolliver would go and that there would be plenty of time to get him. Moreover, he had a purpose of his own and a secret fear that it might be thwarted, so, without a word, he followed the trail till darkness hid it and they had to wait until the moon rose. Then as they started again, the sheriff said: “Wait a minute,” and plunged down the mountain side on foot. A few minutes later he hallooed for Hale, and down there showed him the tracks doubling backward along a foot-path. “Regular rabbit, ain't he?” chuckled the sheriff, and back they went to the trail again on which two hundred yards below the Pine they saw the tracks pointing again to Lonesome Cove. On down the trail they went, and at the top of the spur that overlooked Lonesome Cove, the Falin sheriff pulled in suddenly and got off his horse. There the tracks swerved again into the bushes. “He's goin' to wait till daylight, fer fear somebody's follered him. He'll come in back o' Devil Judd's.” “How do you know he's going to Devil Judd's?” asked Hale. “Whar else would he go?” asked the Falin with a sweep of his arm toward the moonlit wilderness. “Thar ain't but one house that way fer ten miles--and nobody lives thar.” “How do you know that he's going to any house?” asked Hale impatiently. “He may be getting out of the mountains.” “D'you ever know a feller to leave these mountains jus' because he'd killed a man? How'd you foller him at night? How'd you ever ketch him with his start? What'd he turn that way fer, if he wasn't goin' to Judd's--why d'n't he keep on down the river? If he's gone, he's gone. If he ain't, he'll be at Devil Judd's at daybreak if he ain't thar now.” “What do you want to do?” “Go on down with the hosses, hide 'em in the bushes an' wait.” “Maybe he's already heard us coming down the mountain.” “That's the only thing I'm afeerd of,” said the Falin calmly. “But whut I'm tellin' you's our only chance.” “How do you know he won't hear us going down? Why not leave the horses?” “We might need the hosses, and hit's mud and sand all the way--you ought to know that.”