Instantly several rifles were leveled at the flying robbers, and had not Chip commanded them not to shoot it would have fared ill with Jim Cummings and his companions.

With the speed of the wind the horses flew down the trail, the rapid hoof beats rang out on the still night and sent the slinking coyotes howling to their lairs.  Just peering above the horizon could be seen the dark outlines of Goody’s Bluff, fifteen miles away, and if Cummings could but reach its shadow he was safe, even from the posse which was pursuing him, for he would then be in the Indian Territory.  Looking back at his pursuers, who in a solid group were following him so closely that he could almost distinguish their features, so bright was the night, he saw that their horses were not driven at the full height of their speed, but were rather being held back.  Alarmed at this he communicated his fears to his companions, who, one on each side, were bending forward in the saddle, urging and caressing their horses to get all there was out of them, and right gamely did the stanch animals respond to the touch of the spur or pat of the hand, as they beat out mile after mile behind them, the hoof-beats echoed by the flying party behind.  With starting eye-balls eagerly fixed on the dim outlines of the bluff, the hunted men watched it grow larger and more distinct, and hope began to revive in their breasts when a sharp “ping” of a rifle, followed by the whistle of the ball passing over their heads broke the silence of the wordless chase.

As with one impulse, each man threw himself flat on his horse’s neck, but did not for an instant relax speed or spur.  Another shot followed, and Chip’s voice, ringing and clear, shouted: 

“If you don’t halt, we’ll shoot your horses.”

“Shoot and be damned,” said Jim Cummings, almost exultingly, as he drew his revolver from his belt.  “Two can play at that game,” and drawing a hasty bead on Chip, he pulled the trigger.

Chip’s horse, giving a convulsive leap to one side, staggered a little, and fell behind, but was soon in the lead again, apparently unhurt.

“Boys,” shouted Cummings, “d’ye see that dry creek bed.  On the other side we’re safe,” The pursuing posse, hearing these words, and knowing their full import, gave spurs to their horses, and the distance between the two parties closed up so rapidly that the three outlaws could hear the heavy breathing of the following horses.

Their own animals began to show signs of distress, and the dry creek bed was still a long, long distance off.

Nearer and nearer crept Chip and his men, the thirteen men, pursuers and pursued, was almost in one party.  Chip, who lead, and Cummings, who rode behind his comrades, were not a horse’s length apart.

Slowly the gallant beast Chip bestrode pushed forward, gaining little by little until his nose almost reached the flank of Jim’s steed.

“Jim Cummings, do you surrender?” and the sharp click of a revolver was heard.