The horses were fresh, and striking into a canter the two men made for
the open country. The excitement and motion combined with the bracing
air drove the fumes of the liquor from Cook's head, and before many
miles had been passed he was comparatively free from the terrible malady
which threatened to consume him.

The suburbs were passed, and under the clear sky and bright stars, the
willing horses spurned the frozen mud from beneath their feet as they
flew, neck and neck, down the road. Neither men had spoken a word since
the start, but sitting low in the saddle, gave the horses loose reins
nor checked them an instant.

They had left the road and were speeding over the frozen prairie,
skirting a small clump of scrub oak, when just before them, a solitary
horseman could be seen, leisurely walking his steed. At the sudden
appearance of the stranger, both men instinctively reined in their
horses and pulled up short. The man at that moment, heard them, and
giving a hasty look backward, drove his spurs into his horse, dashed
forward at full speed.

In sheer deviltry, Cummings did likewise, followed by Cook, and gave
chase to the flying horseman. It was nearly dawn. The gray light was
brightening the landscape, and, observing his game more closely,
Cummings saw something familiar in his form; and when he glanced over
his shoulder to see his pursuers, the heavy mustache could be seen, even
in that uncertain light.

Placing his fingers to his lips, Jim gave three whistles, two short and
one long sounds. The shrill tones reached the stranger, who turned half