mighty pull on the reins.

He looked at her head. It was thrown high, with pricking ears. Perhaps
she was frightened by some foolish thing near the road. He touched her
with the spurs, and she increased her pace to the old length and
ease of stride; but, just as he had begun to be reassured, her step
shortened and fell to laboring again, and this time she threw her head
higher than before. It was amazing to Bill Gregg; and then it seemed
to him that he heard a faint, far whistling, floating down from high
above his head.

Again that thin, long-drawn sound, and this time, glancing over his
right shoulder, he saw a horseman plunging down the slope of the
mountain. He knew instantly that it was Ronicky Doone. The man had
come to recapture his horse and had taken the short cut across the
mountain to come up with her. Just by a fraction of a minute Doone
would be too late, for, by the time he came down onto the trail,
the bay would be well ahead, and certainly no horse lived in those
mountains capable of overtaking her when she felt like running. Gregg
touched her again with the spurs, but this time she reared straight up
and, whirling to the side, faced steadily toward her onrushing master.




Chapter Two


_Friendly Enemies_