At a mad gallop, Slim and Lightning raced down the valley. Like the true cow horse, Lightning sensed obstacles almost before they were in sight and on more than one occasion stretched her long legs to leap across badly washed places in the trail. At the pace they were going, a tumble would have been fatal for both.

The valley broadened and the timber thinned out. Slim reined Lightning in sharply. Ahead of them was a great wash strewn with boulders which had been carried down from the peaks of the Cajons by spring torrents. Somewhere in the mass of boulders was the secret of the steady firing.

Slim listened carefully. Three rifles were barking their song of death. As nearly as he could tell from the firing, it was two against one and he voted himself a ringside seat.

“You stay here,” he told Lightning. “I can’t tell what I’m up against and you’re a pretty good sized target.”

He slipped off the sorrel and ducked in between the boulders. The sky was a blaze of red as the sun dipped over the horizon. Already the shadows were creeping up from the lowlands. Another fifteen minutes at the most remained of light in which he could hope to do any kind of shooting if he found himself in trouble.

Slim moved from boulder to boulder, drawing rapidly nearer to the scene of the firing. It seemed to be concentrated to his right and he worked steadily in that direction. A minute later he saw the opening of a small draw off the main valley. Then he spotted the horse which had been shot down. The animal was lying just in front of the smaller valley. There was a huge boulder a little to Slim’s left and he managed to crawl on top of it. From this point of vantage the entire scene unfolded.

The rider of the dead horse was trapped in the small wash. His cayuse shot down, he had attempted to escape, only to find himself in a box-like canyon with walls too steep to scale. He had taken refuge behind the rocks and now was firing carefully and methodically at the men who had brought him down.

A few seconds later Slim spotted the riflemen who had killed the horse. One on each side, they were gradually closing in on the man who was trapped in the canyon.

Slim took another look at his Winchester. The range was almost too easy, less than two hundred yards. There was no wind, but the light was fading fast.

He didn’t like the way the men were closing in on the trapped rider. Their actions were too deadly, they were firing too calmly. It was evident that they did not intend that their victim should get out alive. It wasn’t a fair fight and Slim took a substantial interest in the argument as he snuggled the smooth, walnut butt of the Winchester against his cheek.

With keen eye and steady fingers, he drew a bead on the nearest rifleman. But the man’s back was toward him. He couldn’t shoot without warning. Slim relaxed slightly and sent a ringing call echoing over the valley.

“Hi-yuh! Hi-yuh! What’s going on there?”

The firing ceased abruptly and two astonished riflemen swung toward him, their weapons ready for instant action. But Slim, sprawled atop the big boulder, was practically invisible at that distance. There was no sound from the man trapped in the canyon.

“What’s going on here?” Slim shouted again.

He must have raised his head slightly, for one of the riflemen made a snap shot and a bullet splattered on the boulder less than three feet away.

That was a declaration of war and Slim accepted the challenge. He could have shot the others down in cold blood, but he had given them a chance--two chances.

The shot fired at Slim was still echoing over the valley when the cowboy from the Flying Arrow fired twice. There was a sharp cry of pain from one of the riflemen and Slim heard a gun clatter to the rocks. He had aimed for an elbow which had appeared for just a second around one side of a boulder. Evidently his aim had been true.

The man trapped in the canyon had joined in the fight again and the riflemen were caught between two fires, with Slim on the one side and the unknown on the other. They had little desire to expose themselves to the deadly marksmanship of Slim and were content to wait until darkness.

Slim held up his own fire. It was a waste of lead to blaze away recklessly and the chances of hitting anyone were extremely remote.

The twilight deepened and the evening star peeped down on the boulder-strewn wash which a few minutes before had hummed with leaden death.

Night came and with it the valley awoke to new sounds--the noise of boots scraping on rocks as their wearers clumsily attempted to move about in silence. Slim took off his own boots and in his stocking feet started quietly toward the place where he had last seen the riflemen. Sharp stones jabbed his feet, but he moved silently, pressing steadily ahead.

In a few more minutes a new moon would shed its feeble rays over the Cajons, but it might not penetrate this remote valley. Slim almost stumbled over the rifle, which the man had dropped. The stock of the weapon had been shattered by the impact of his bullet and the gun was worthless. Slim laid it back on the ground and worked slowly toward the mouth of the box canyon. He was curious to learn the identity of the man who had been the target for the vicious attack of the gunmen.

The Flying Arrow cowboy was almost at the mouth of the canyon when a thunder of flying hoofs stopped him. There was something familiar in the leaping cadence. The wild tattoo of the hoofs sounded like Lightning. But that couldn’t be. He had left Lightning well up the trail.

With a growing fear in his heart, Slim cast caution to the winds and raced back along the trail. The rocks bruised his feet, but with his one thought for Lightning there was no time to stop and hunt for the boulder on which he had left his boots.

The trail smoothed out. Slim felt grass underneath. It was here that he had left the beautiful sorrel; it was here that Lightning should be waiting for him.

Slim cupped his hands and called the name of his horse.

“Lightning!” he cried. Over and over again the shout was hurled from his anxious lips. He whistled again and again. Each time there was only the silence of the night for an answer, while far down the trail the drumming of flying hoofs lessened and finally vanished altogether.

Slim knew what had happened. The riflemen, cut off from their own horses by his appearance, had been forced to seek escape up the trail. They had come upon Lightning, awaiting the return of her master, and had mounted the big sorrel. Picking their way around the rock-strewn wash, they had returned to their own horses and made good their escape but Lightning, the most valuable horse in the Flying Arrow remuda, had been taken with them.

There was a consuming bitterness in Slim’s heart as he turned slowly back along the rocky trail to find his boots. Lightning was his own horse. He had trained the mare until she was the envy of every cowboy in the Flying Arrow territory. His hands gripped the stock of the rifle hard. Let him come within range of the men who had stolen Lightning and there would be no warning shouts, no fancy shots aimed only to hit an elbow.

It was in such a mood that Slim stormed back along the trail, too angry to spare his feet as he walked over the cruel rocks.

A quiet voice brought him back from wild rage to a cool realization that he was in a tight spot.

“Put up your hands and don’t move!”

The words were softly spoken, hardly above a whisper but there was a ring of earnestness in them that brooked no meddling.

Slim opened his hands and his rifle clattered to the ground.

“Now raise your arms slowly. Don’t make a move for the gun in your holster. I’ll drop you without mercy if you do.”

Carefully Slim’s hands went higher until they were above his head. His mind worked rapidly. Could only one of the riflemen have escaped? Had the unwounded man waited for him to walk into a trap? Or was this the man who had been trapped in the canyon?

The questions raced through his mind. The mysterious letter from Bill Needham of the Cattlemen’s Association had certainly led him into a peck of trouble and he hadn’t reached the Creeping Shadows country.

The soft voice spoke again.

“Turn around now. Move slowly. Remember, I’ve got you covered.”