The full-throated baying of a hound. Men, far in the valleys below Stone Mountain, looked up, and listened, wondering. But those on the mountain heard and understood: Dan Hodges was being run to earth.

The clew offered by the wet place on the cliff had sufficed for the three men who accompanied the stag-hound. They had marked the spot carefully in memory by its distance from a certain stunted pine growing above it and a rift in the precipice to one side. Then they had ascended a furlong to the north, where the ascent was gradual and broken. When they had made sure that they were at the proper level, they searched for an approach to the desired ledge. The dog found the scent by the tunnel, but Brant did not loose the animal. Stone’s eyes caught traces of where a bowlder had been moved. A little more searching revealed the opening covered by the stone, which they rolled aside.

“But he’s not there, now,” Brant declared, as he restrained the eager dog. “Jack is wild to be off, and he wouldn’t take a back track.” 248

Uncle Dick, eager to make sure, would have attempted the passage, but Stone interposed.

“I’ll go,” he declared. “It’s my right—my prisoner, you know. Anyhow, it’ll be a snug-enough fit for me, and I’m smaller than you, Uncle Dick.”

The old man grudgingly admitted the fact, and made way for the marshal. In five minutes, Stone was back.

“Nobody there,” he announced.

“Then it’s up to Jack,” Brant exclaimed, and slipped the leash.

The hound shot forward in full cry. The men hurried after at top speed. Almost immediately, the dog vanished among the thickets. There came a clatter of sliding stones, as the big beast went galloping up the rise toward the crest of the mountain. The men followed as best they might, guided by the baying. Uncle Dick listened with bloodthirsty hopefulness for the crack of Zeke’s rifle, which he would recognize.

The fugitive himself heard the hound’s sonorous summons, and wasted breath in cursing. He cursed his potations over-night, which had led him to sleep beyond the sunrise. But for such drunken folly, he would have had the trailer hopelessly at fault. Now, at best, it would be a close race—and there was the girl to hamper and hinder. She was running at his side, obedient to the pressure of his 249 hands. He had replaced the cowhide thong, with her hands in front of her, and with play enough for free movement. So far, she had made no resistance to his commands. But the barking of the dog would warn her. If she should turn balky—

What the outlaw feared, came to pass. The hoarse baying sounded to Plutina’s ears like sweetest music. The first note told her that friends were at hand for a rescue from the monster by her side. Her heart leaped in the joy of it. A new courage surged in her—courage to defy this creature that held her in thrall.

They were come already across the most of the plain of naked rock that is the top of the mountain. They had rushed without pause through the little grove of dwarf pines that grows near the Devil’s Slide, above the Cauldron. They were come, indeed, to the very edge of the Slide itself before Plutina acted. After all, it was not the new courage, but a newer fear, that forced her. She had one swift glimpse of the valley spread a thousand feet below, the giant trees like tiniest saplings, so far away—that dear, adorable valley, where were home and peace and love. But, between her and it, the precipice fell; between her and it, the Devil’s Pot boiled; between her and it was this man, who drove her with curses. She looked away from the beloved valley into the loathsome face, and she saw the fear 250 in his eyes—fear, and something else that terrified her. She realized suddenly that she was on the very verge of the Slide, where none might venture and live. There, just beyond, was the darkened surface of the rock where the shallow stream went slithering down into the Cauldron. An hysteria of fear gripped her, as he dragged her forward, out upon the sloping stone that dipped toward the abyss. She believed that he meant to hurl her from the height. Thus, there would be left no evidence of his crime. His passion for her was nothing now—only his passion for life.

“Quick, damn ye!” Hodges rasped. “I know the way in the dark. Ye needn’t be skeered none with me.”

He meant it; but the girl did not believe. She thought it a ruse to get her closer to the edge. She shrieked in despair, and sprang away from him. His clutch on the thong checked her. He jerked her back to him, hardly pausing in his stride. She struck at his face furiously, but he dragged her on toward the brink, mouthing at her with foul oaths. She fell to her knees, and hung, screaming, a dead weight. The baying of the hound sounded closer. Hodges threw a glance over his shoulder, and saw the dog charging from the grove. He would have fired, but the girl was in the way. With a final blasphemy, he dropped his rifle, and struck at her—full 251 in the face. She sank down limply, unconscious. Her body slid away slowly, yet with a quickening movement, toward the gulf.

Hodges gave not even a look to his victim. He heard the challenge of the hound, now fairly upon him. There was no time to shoot. He used cunning instead. A mighty jump carried him over the moist surface where the stream flowed. He alighted on the dry rock. His bare feet clutched and held on the sloping surface.... No instinct warned the hound. Its leap brought it down in the wet run-way. Its feet shot from under. The force of its rush finished the work. The outlaw turned just in time to see the hound disappear over the cliff.

Before he had time for exultation over this victory, before he could look to see how fared the girl whom he had struck down so ruthlessly, before he guessed the new peril, another enemy was upon him.

Zeke, too, had heard the baying of the hound. Trembling with eagerness, where he lurked behind a screen of bushes at the south of the grove, he knew that the dog was hot on the trail. He went racing toward the sound, with the bull-terrier at his heels. He had just entered among the trees, when he saw the hound careen past him. He followed, and, as he issued into the open, saw the man 252 and the girl struggling on the edge of the precipice. He sickened at the spectacle, but there was no faltering. With every atom of energy in speed, he darted down the slope. He saw the blow that crumpled Plutina to the rock. He saw it through a veil of red. What he did not see was the low, stealthy, yet quickening, slide of her body toward the brim of the abyss. So, all unconscious of that peril to the one he loved, he sprang to attack his enemy. He saw the hound’s fate, and understood the cause of it. He, in turn, cleared the treacherous wet surface by a mighty leap. That leap brought him full on the outlaw’s back. The two men went down together.

The crash of Hodges’ head on the rock had well been enough to crack an ordinary skull. But his was strong, and the unkempt thatch of hair cushioned it, so that he got no serious hurt. A little dazed by the blow, and by the unexpectedness of the onslaught—nothing more. And he had the bravery of triumphant physical strength. In the instant of attack, he fought back viciously, with blind thrust and clutch. A long, powerful arm writhed around Zeke like a band of steel, and held the assailant immovable. Lying there on his back, the outlaw looked up into Zeke’s face, and recognized it, and cursed this unexpected foe obscenely.

Zeke wasted no energy in words. He was mad 253 with rage against the man he hated. His one desire was to kill. He twined his fingers in the tangled hair, and beat the head upon the stone floor again and again. But the leverage of his arms was cut down too much. He could not even stun the outlaw, much less kill. He could not reach his rifle, which he had dropped when he sprang to the attack. He could not draw his revolver by reason of the encircling arms. He could only hammer his enemy’s head on the rock, with a cruel lust for slaughter that availed nothing except to madden him by its futility. His strength, great though it was, was not enough against the man he fought.

Hodges proved the fact presently, for by a tremendous effort, he turned, and pinned Zeke underneath. The force of the impact under the outlaw’s heavy weight laid the lad unconscious. The fingers unclenched from his adversary’s hair; he lay limp. Hodges rose to his feet, with shambling haste. But, if he meant to kill, fate thwarted him. One foot was placed on the treacherous dampened rock. It slid from under him. He was thrown from his balance, and sprawled at length. He scrambled on all fours toward the other side of the run-way with desperate haste. He did not attempt to rise. A moment later, he slipped slowly over the brow of the cliff.

Seth Jones, just issuing from the grove, saw the 254 vanishing of the outlaw, but, at the distance, he could not distinguish the man’s identity or that of the other, lying motionless on the sloping rock. For the instant, however, he gave no heed to either for sheer horror of something else he saw—the unconscious girl, moving so inexorably to her doom. He shouted in despair, as he raced toward her. But he knew he must be too late. He was powerless to stay her fall—as was the bull-terrier, which had seized her skirt and still clung, only to be dragged down with her into the void. Before he was come to the beginning of the Slide, girl and dog had traversed it—had shot out into the emptiness of space.