obeyed, muttering beneath his breath, but his head was turned as
if in an effort to follow the sounds of the pursuit.

Next came the distant rattle of loosened stones--evidently one
horse was being urged toward the open high ground--then the
peaceful quiet evening was split by the report of Law's thirty-
thirty. Another shot followed, and then a third. Both Alaire and
her prisoner were on their feet, the woman shaking in every limb,
the Mexican straining his eyes into the gloom and listening
intently.

Soon there came a further echo of dry earth and gravel dislodged,
but whether by Law's horse or by that of Sanchez was uncertain.
Perhaps both men had gained the mesa.

It had all happened so quickly and so unexpectedly that Alaire
felt she must be dreaming, or that there had been some idiotic
mistake. She wondered if the Ranger's sudden charge had not simply
frightened Panfilo into a panicky flight, and she tried to put her
thoughts into words the Mexican would understand, but his answer
was unintelligible. His black scowl, however, was eloquent of
uncertainty and apprehension.

Alaire had begun to feel the strain of the situation and was
trying to decide what next to do, when David Law came riding out
of the twilight. He was astride the gray; behind him at the end of
a lariat was Bessie Belle, and her saddle was empty.

Mrs. Austin uttered a sharp cry.