straight as a hawk would fly. Denver, marking Concho for his prey
and not to be easily cheated, turned and followed.

Chip swore inwardly and kept straight ahead, leaving the path himself
to do so. He knew a deep washout lay now between himself and the Little
Doctor, and his only hope was to get within speaking distance before she
was overtaken.

Concho fled to the very brink of the washout and stopped so suddenly
that his forefeet plowed a furrow in the grass, and the Little Doctor
came near going clean over his head. She recovered her balance, and
cast a frightened glance over her shoulder; Denver was rushing down
upon them like an express train.

"Get off--your--H-O-R-S-E!" shouted Chip, making a trumpet of his hands.
"Fight Denver off--with--your whip!"

The last command the Little Doctor did not hear distinctly. The first
she made haste to obey. Throwing herself from the saddle, she slid
precipitately into the washout just as Denver thundered up, snorting
a challenge. Concho, scared out of his wits, turned and tore off down
the washout, whipped around the end of it and made for home, his enemy
at his heels and Chip after the two of them, leaning low over his horse
as Blazes, catching the excitement and urged by the spurs, ran like an
antelope.

The Little Doctor, climbing the steep bank to level ground, gazed
after the fleeing group with consternation. Here was she a long four
miles from home--five, if she followed the windings of the trail--and it
looked very much as if her two feet must take her there. The prospect