The horse, which was greatly fatigued, was favored by this device. Broadwater felt all the peril of his situation, and knew that nothing but coolness and decision could save him. He was twenty miles from the second crossing of the Deer Lodge, where a Frenchman by the name of David Contway was living with his Indian wife, preparing to take up a ranche. This was the nearest place of safety. Casting another glance at the freebooters, he saw, as he passed over the summit of the hill, that they were making active preparations to pursue him. There was no time to be lost. It was to be a race for life, and his chances for escape depended upon the advantage he could win during the brief period his pursuers would require in getting ready to start. As soon as he was lost to their sight he remounted his horse, and, spurring him to his utmost speed, descended into the broad open valley. His course now lay over a level plain denuded of trees, and rank with prairie vegetation. Every movement he made within any attainable distance, he knew would be seen by the men who were on his track. The clumps of willow which defined the course of the river were too small to afford even temporary shelter. His horse, liable at any moment to give out, obeyed the urgency of the occasion, under whip and spur, with great reluctance. But his rider kept him up to his speed, more than once inclined to diverge from the trail toward the pine forest, which covered the foothills, four or five miles distant, on either side of the valley, and seek a covert there. When half the distance had been travelled, he looked back, and amid a cloud of dust, less than three miles away, he saw the robbers in pursuit, seemingly gaining rapidly upon him. His poor, panting steed, whose sides were bleeding from the frequent lacerations of the spur, seemed on the point of exhaustion, and the thirty pounds of gold dust strapped to his person bore with terrible weight upon him. But there was no time to calculate any other chance for escape, than that of reaching the goal. On and on he spurred the jaded animal, often casting furtive glances back at the approaching death, and expecting at every turn in the trail to feel the fatal bullet. At length the little lodge of Contway peered above the willows. The horse renewed his vigor at the sight. The hurrying tramp of the pursuers was heard in the rear. A last and desperate effort was made to urge the horse to greater speed, and he dashed up to the door, falling, on his arrival, with complete exhaustion. He was ruined,—but he had saved the life of his master. Ives and Cooper, less than fifty rods behind, reined their horses to a walk, and rode slowly up, while Broadwater was removing the saddle from his broken-down animal. Their horses were foaming with perspiration. “Well, you beat us on the ride,” said Ives, addressing Broadwater.