Slim rode easily, keeping the fleeing owner of the Diamond Dot within sight. They pushed deeper into the Cajon foothills and Slim knew that Cook’s horse would soon commence to slow down under the pace, which was gruelling for the average range horse.

In desperation Cook dismounted and unlimbered his rifle but Slim, sensing the move before the rustler had found cover, dropped out of his saddle and fired rapidly at the Diamond Dot man. Cook was beaten at his own game and he leaped back into the saddle to continue the race against certain capture.

If he could only hold out until nightfall there was just a chance that he could escape, but Slim had no intention of allowing the rustler to do that. He was closing the gap steadily when the trail opened into a long, narrow defile in the mountains.

Cook spurred his tiring horse madly, while Slim gave Lightning her head. It was a good place to end the chase. He slipped his rifle out of the scabbard and lined up the sights. Before he could raise the weapon to his shoulder he saw Cook topple from his saddle to lie motionless along the trail.

Slim pulled Lightning up sharply. Perhaps it was a trick of the rustler’s, a ruse to bring him within sure range.

Slim dismounted and moved forward warily, his rifle ready for instant use. Then the echo of hoofs warned him of the approach of another rider and up ahead Chuck burst into view on his calico cayuse. It was then that Slim knew Cook’s fall from the saddle was no ruse. He had been shot down by Chuck, who had suddenly voted himself a hand in the play.

The Flying Arrow cowboy was the first to reach the wounded rustler. Cook was still dazed from the shock of the wound and the fall, but he was not seriously injured. Relieving him of his weapons, Slim looked up just as Chuck arrived in a thunder of drumming hoofs and a cloud of dust.

“Where under the sun did you come from?” demanded the astonished Slim.

“I’ll tell you all about that later. Did I get that skunk?” Chuck pointed toward the rustler.

“Through the right shoulder,” nodded Slim. “If you hadn’t cut in on the play when you did, I was figuring on stopping his travels in about another second.”

“Yeh, but I owed him a little more than you did. What’s happened since I did the disappearing act?”

“We had a little fireworks along the railroad this afternoon,” smiled Slim. “Seemed a half dozen hombres were shipping some Box B cattle under another name and we put a stop to it.”

“Did you get them all?”

“Counting Cook here, they’re all in the bag.”

“That must just about clean out the gang,” said Chuck.

“There’s a few more, but we’ll round them up in time.”

“I’ve got a score to settle with one of them,” said Chuck, relating briefly how he had been held captive. He was especially incensed at his treatment at the hands of the masked man who had accompanied Hack Cook on the visit of the Diamond Dot owner to the hideout where he had been held captive.

“I’m going to find out who that fellow was,” went on Chuck.

“I think I know,” put in Slim, “but if you can get Cook to tell you, so much the better.”

They bent over the rustler, who was now thoroughly aware of his dangerous situation. Slim tore off a piece of Cook’s shirt and bound up the shoulder wound.

“Give me a drink of water,” the rustler begged.

“Not on your life,” snapped Chuck. “You fellows didn’t treat me any too well. I want to know the name of the hombre that was with you.”

Cook’s face whitened, but his lips tensed and he only shook his head.

“So that’s the way it is,” said Chuck grimly. “Believe me, you’re going to talk.”

The Circle Four cowboy took the rope off his saddle and deftly slipped a noose around Cook’s shoulders.

“What are you going to do?” demanded Slim, who wasn’t sure whether Chuck was in earnest or was merely trying to scare the rustler.

“I’m going to drag the information I want out of this cheap desperado,” replied the cowboy detective.

Chuck walked toward his horse, straightened the rope out after him. Cook attempted to free himself, but Chuck had done a neat job.

The Circle Four cowboy mounted his cayuse and turned back to Cook.

“There’s one more chance. Who was with you?”

Still the rustler’s lips were sealed and with a warning glance at Slim not to interfere, Chuck spoke to his horse. The cayuse moved ahead and the rope tightened.

A startled cry broke from Cook’s lips.

“I’ll talk!” he screamed, “I’ll talk! Don’t drag me over these rocks.”

Chuck dismounted.

“I thought it would work,” he grinned at Slim. “This fellow’s yellow clear through.”

The cowboy detectives bent over Cook.

“Talk fast,” Chuck warned him. “If you don’t I’ll take you for a real ride.”

Cook moistened his lips. It was plain that he was reluctant to talk and only Chuck’s threat of a terrible punishment had loosened his tongue.

“It was Titzell,” he muttered. “Titzell got us into this jam. He was too greedy. He wanted everything.”

Slim looked at Chuck. He had been right. Titzell was the leader of the rustlers. Disguised as a cattle buyer, he had ridden the length and breadth of the valley, spotting choice stock to be run off by the gang later.

“Who else is in the gang?” insisted the relentless Chuck.

“They’ll kill me if they learn I’ve squealed,” begged Cook.

“If you don’t talk, they’ll never see you again,” promised Slim.

“There’s Maxie Denkman and Leo Kovec and Newt Bemis, besides the boys on my own place.”

“How many have you got there?”

“Ten altogether, but you got four of them and Newt Bemis when you jumped us at the train.”

“That leaves six more Diamond Dot riders, plus Maxie Denkman and the marshal at Dirty Water,” said Slim. “Maxie’s out of the way, because I put a slug in his elbow when he tried that ambush on the Sky High trail.”

“Where’s the other six?” demanded Chuck.

“Two of the boys are watching the Sky High trail, two of them are over on the trail through the Three Soldiers and the last two are on the trail from the valley south.”

“Think he’s telling the truth?” Chuck asked.

The tall cowboy nodded and walked over and picked up Cook’s rifle. Calmly he fired a bullet into the ground and then picked up the spent shell. He produced another cartridge from an inner pocket and compared the firing pin marks on the base of the shell.

“I guess your days are numbered,” he told Cook when he turned back. “The shell from your gun corresponds exactly with one I found at the scene of the ambush of Adam Marks and your horse has the same V-shaped nick on the left rear shoe.”

“There’s marks like that all over the range. That don’t prove anything.”

“Oh yes, it does. Remember that I’ll testify I heard you and Titzell talking about that in the cabin and you figured you were pretty smart to file marks like that on a number of shoes.”

Chuck’s words crushed the last resistance in the rustler.

It was twilight when the first of the Box B riders came up the trail. Pat Beals was ahead and the cowboy detectives placed Hack Cook in his hands for safekeeping.

“Where you going?” Pat demanded.

“To finish the job of cleaning up this gang of rustlers,” said Slim. “We’ll see you tomorrow sometime at the ranch.”

Before Pat could protest, Slim and Chuck spurred away up the trail, determined to strike fast and hard at the rest of the rustlers.