"Doggone it!" exclaimed old man Dumble, "his horse is fresh. He's got
friends in the hills."

We had left the trail, and were pounding over the sage-brush desert. I
could smell the sage, strongly pungent, and the alkaline dust began to
irritate my throat; the sun, if one stood still, was strong enough to
blister the skin of the hands.

For three-quarters of an hour it seemed to me that the distance
between us and our quarry remained constant; but Dumble said we were
falling behind. The thief was lighter than any of us, and his horse
was evidently a stayer. The hills rose out of the haze, bleak and
bare, seamed with gulches, a safe sanctuary for all wild things.

"If the cuss was within range, I'd try a shot," said the old man.

"I'd like to make out who he is," said Ajax.

Suddenly the horse of the thief fell. We discovered later that the
beast had plunged into a piece of ground honeycombed with squirrel-
holes. The man staggered to his feet; the horse struggled where he
fell, but did not rise. His shoulder was broken.

"We have him!" yelled Dumble.

"Yes; we have him," repeated my brother. "Suppose we take a look at
him?"

The thief had abandoned all idea of escape. He stood beside his horse,