And the man, intent on getting out of the canyon, rode into the trap, approaching to within a hundred yards of Slone, who suddenly showed himself on foot, rifle in hand.  The deep gulch was a barrier to Slone’s further progress, but his rifle dominated the situation.

“Hold on!” he called, warningly.

“Hold on yerself!” yelled the other, aghast, as he halted his horse.  He gazed down and evidently was quick to take in the facts.

Slone had meant to kill this man without even a word, yet now when the moment had come a feeling almost of sickness clouded his resolve.  But he leveled the rifle.

“I got it on you,” he called.

“Reckon you hev.  But see hyar—­”

“I can hit you anywhere.”

“Wal, I’ll take yer word fer thet.”

“All right.  Now talk fast. . . .  Are you one of Cordts’s gang?”

“Sure.”

“Why are you alone?”

“We split down hyar.”

“Did you know I was on this trail?”

“Nope.  I didn’t sure, or you’d never ketched me, red hoss or no.”

“Who were you trailin’?”

“Ole Creech an’ the girl he kidnapped.”

Slone felt the leap of his blood and the jerk it gave the rifle as his tense finger trembled on the trigger.

“Girl. . . .  What girl?” he called, hoarsely.

“Bostil’s girl.”

“Why did Cordts split on the trail?”

“He an’ Hutch went round fer some more of the gang, an’ to head off Joel Creech when he comes in with Bostil’s hosses.”

Slone was amazed to find how the horse thieves had calculated; yet, on second thought, the situation, once the Creeches had been recognized, appeared simple enough.

“What was your game?” he demanded.

“I was follerin’ Creech jest to find out where he’d hole up with the girl.”

“What’s Cordts’s game—­after he heads Joel Creech?”

“Then he’s goin’ fer the girl.”

Slone scarcely needed to be told all this, but the deliberate words from the lips of one of Cordts’s gang bore a raw, brutal proof of Lucy’s peril.  And yet Slone could not bring himself to kill this man in cold blood.  He tried, but in vain.

“Have you got a gun?” called Slone, hoarsely.

“Sure.”

“Ride back the other way! . . .  If you don’t lose me I’ll kill you!”

The man stared.  Slone saw the color return to his pale face.  Then he turned his horse and rode back out of sight.  Slone heard him rolling the stones down the long, rough slope; and when he felt sure the horse-thief had gotten a fair start he went back to mount Wildfire in pursuit.

This trailer of Lucy never got back to Lucy’s trail—­never got away.

But Slone, when that day’s hard, deadly pursuit ended, found himself lost in the canyons.  How bitterly he cursed both his weakness in not shooting the man at sight, and his strength in following him with implacable purpose!  For to be fair, to give the horse-thief a chance for his life, Slone had lost Lucy’s trail.  The fact nearly distracted him.  He spent a sleepless night of torture.