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 in the swale. Five or six of them, he thought; certainly not fewer than four. They were not more than half a mile away.

They had not come so tight on his heels undiscovered through any laxity in Simpson's vigilance; he had nearly screwed his head loose looking back that morning. Curiously enough, the discovery that they were coming, and so near, did not give him half the start the sight of that light in the forest cabin had given him last night. He was on edge with expectation of their appearance; there was more the feeling of disappointment, of bitter reproach against the turn of luck, than surprise.

It was a run for the money now, and he saw no reason why he couldn't go about as fast as they could come, pressed by the necessity of doing it, the country fairly open along the bank of the arroyo. He gave a whoop that raised the ears of every horse in the band, and started them with a rush.

No animal associated with man in his domestic economy, not even excepting the dog, will sense and respond to its master's nervous condition as quickly as the horse. It feels the flow of confidence through the reins as readily as it senses the thrill of panic; it will quicken to the calm word of encouragement and quiver at the excited voice of nervous command as no other living creature not endowed with human understanding.

There was not a horse in that band but understood a supreme effort was required of it. They leaped to the race in long strides, bellies close to the ground, necks stretched, chins pointing, running in open order, each picking his own way; leaping rocks, skirting bushes, gath-