Wyoming | Page 4

of apprehension, a spurt of smoke
came from one of the rifles and was flung back from the forked pine at
the bottom of the mesa. She saw him then, kneeling behind his
insufficient shelter, a trapped man making his last stand.
>From where she stood the girl distinguished him very clearly, and
under the field-glasses that she turned on him the details leaped to life.
Tall, strong, slender, with the lean, clean build of a greyhound, he
seemed as wary and alert as a panther. The broad, soft hat, the scarlet
handkerchief loosely knotted about his throat, the gray shirt, spurs and
overalls, proclaimed him a stockman, just as his dead horse at the
entrance to the coulee told of an accidental meeting in the desert and a
hurried run for cover.
That he had no chance was quite plain, but no plainer than the cool
vigilance with which he proposed to make them pay. Even in the matter
of defense he was worse off than they were, but he knew how to make
the most of what he had; knew how to avail himself of every inch of
sagebrush that helped to render him indistinct to their eyes.
One of the attackers, eager for a clearer shot, exposed himself a trifle

too far in taking aim. Without any loss of time in sighting, swift as a
lightning-flash, the rifle behind the forked pine spoke. That the bullet
reached its mark she saw with a gasp of dismay. For the man suddenly
huddled down and rolled over on his side.
His comrades appeared to take warning by this example. The men at
both ends of the crescent fell back, and for a minute the girl's heart
leaped with the hope that they were about to abandon the siege.
Apparently the man in the scarlet kerchief had no such expectation. He
deserted his position behind the pine and ran back, crouching low in the
brush, to another little clump of trees closer to the bluff. The reason for
this was at first not apparent to her, but she understood presently when
the men who had fallen back behind the rolling hillocks appeared again
well in to the edge of the bluff. Only by his timely retreat had the man
saved himself from being outflanked.
It was very plain that the attackers meant to take their time to finish
him in perfect safety. He was surrounded on every side by a cordon of
rifles, except where the bare face of the butte hung down behind him.
To attempt to scale it would have been to expose himself as a mark for
every gun to certain death.
It was now that she heard the man who seemed to be directing the
attack call out to another on his right. She was too far to make out the
words, but their effect was clear to her. He pointed to the brow of the
butte above, and a puncher in white woolen chaps dropped back out of
range and swung to the saddle upon one of the ponies bunched in the
rear. He cantered round in a wide circle and made for the butte. His
purpose was obviously to catch their victim in the unprotected rear, and
fire down upon him from above.
The young woman shouted a warning, but her voice failed to carry. For
a moment she stood with her hands pressed together in despair, then
turned and swiftly scudded to her machine. She sprang in, swept
forward, reached the rim of the mesa, and plunged down. Never before
had she attempted so precarious a descent in such wild haste. The car
fairly leaped into space, and after it struck swayed dizzily as it shot
down. The girl hung on, her face white and set, the pulse in her temple
beating wildly. She could do nothing, as the machine rocked down, but
hope against many chances that instant destruction might be averted.
Utterly beyond her control, the motor-car thundered down, reached the

foot of the butte, and swept over a little hill in its wild flight. She
rushed by a mounted horseman in the thousandth part of a second. She
was still speeding at a tremendous velocity, but a second hill reduced
this somewhat. She had not yet recovered control of the machine, but,
though her eyes instinctively followed the white road that flashed past,
she again had photographed on her brain the scene of the turbid tragedy
in which she was intervening.
At the foot of the butte the road circled and dipped into the coulee. She
braced herself for the shock, but, though the wheels skidded till her
heart was in her throat, the automobile, hanging on the balance of
disaster, swept round in safety.
Her horn screamed an instant warning to