"We'd have caught him red-handed," said Crosby, "if we'd been five
minutes sooner. Lord!" he gasped. "It makes me cold to think of it.
The men would have shot him off his horse. But what a story for those
women! I hope I'll be there when they tell it. If Ranson can keep his
face straight, he's a wonder." For some moments they raced silently
neck by neck, and then Curtis again leaned from his saddle. "I hope
he HAS turned back to the post," he said. "Look at the men how
they're keeping watch for him. They're scouts, all of them."

"What if they are?" returned Crosby, easily. "Ranson's in uniform--
out for a moonlight canter. You can bet a million dollars he didn't
wear his red mask long after he heard us coming."

"I suppose he'll think we've followed to spoil his fun. You know you
said we would."

"Yes, he was going to shoot us," laughed Crosby. "I wonder why he
packs a gun. It's a silly thing to do."

The officers fell apart again, and there was silence over the
prairie, save for the creaking of leather and the beat of the hoofs.
And then, faint and far away, there came the quick crack of a
revolver, another, and then a fusillade. "My God!" gasped Crosby. He
threw himself forwards digging his spurs into his horse, and rode as
though he were trying to escape from his own men.

No one issued an order, no one looked a question; each, officer and
enlisted man, bowed his head and raced to be the first.

The trail was barricaded by two struggling horses and an overturned