they'll get him sure," reasoned Cheyenne.

He thought of turning back and trying to stop Sneed's men. He thought of
turning his horse loose and ambushing the mountainmen, afoot. But
Cheyenne did not want to kill. His greatest fear was that Little Jim
might get hurt. As he hesitated, a rifle snarled from the rim above, and
he saw Little Jim's horse flinch and jump forward.

"I reckon it's up to us, old Steel Dust," he said to his horse.

Hoping to draw the fire of the men above, he eased his horse round the
next bend and then spurred him to a run. Below, Little Jim was jogging
along, within a hundred yards or so of the bend that would screen him
from sight. Realizing that he could never make the next turn on the run,
Cheyenne gripped with his knees, and leaned back to meet the shock as
Steel Dust plunged over the end of the turn and crashed through the
brush below. A slug whipped through the brush and clipped a twig in
front of the horse.

Steel Dust swerved and lunged on down through the heavy brush. A naked
creek-bed showed white and shimmering at the bottom of the slope. Again
a slug whined through the sunlight and Cheyenne's hat spun from his head
and settled squarely on a low bush. It was characteristic of Cheyenne
that he grabbed for his hat--and got it as he dashed past.

"Keep the change," said Cheyenne as he ducked beneath a branch and
straightened up again. He was almost to the creek-bed, naked to the
sunlight, and a bad place to cross with guns going from above. He pulled
up, slipped from his horse, and slapped him on the flank.