Her eyes met his, and he needed no other thanks. "You'll lose the
dance," was her only comment.

Jim followed the road until it branched off to join the Bear Creek
trail. Here he deflected toward the mountains, taking the zigzag path
that ran like a winding thread among the rocks as it mounted. Now for
the first time there came to him the faint rhythmic sound of a galloping
horse's hoofs. He did not stop, and as he picked his way among the rocks
he heard for some time no more of it.

"Mr. Hurry-up-like-hell kept the road, I reckon," Jim ruminated aloud,
and even as he spoke he caught again the echo of an iron shoe striking a
rock.

He stopped and listened. Some one was climbing the trail behind him.

"Mebbe he's a friend, and then mebbe he isn't. We'll let him have the
whole road to himself, eh, Keno?"

Yeager guided his pony to the left, and took up a position behind some
huge bowlders from whence he could see without being seen. The pursuer
toiled into sight, a slim, wiry youth on a buckskin. He came forward out
of the shadows into the fretted moonlight.

Yeager gave a glad whoop of recognition. "Hi-yi, Phil!"

"You're there, are you? Did I scare you off the trail, Jim?"

"That's whatever, boy. What are you doing here?"