He could hear the crackling of the shrubbery as the horses of the outlaws pushed their way through to the higher ground, and it was not long before he caught sight of them, riding in single file, the captain leading the way.

With the utmost caution he followed, taking advantage of every bush and tree, ready to dodge behind them or fall to the ground as the case might demand. For a time they proceeded at a walk, owing to the rough going, but as soon as they got to more level ground they put the spurs to their horses and galloped on at a rapid gait. Bert drifted after them like a ghost, never letting them get more than half a mile a head, for fear that they might turn into some byroad and give him the slip. Twice one of the men turned in the saddle and looked behind him, probably more as the result of habit than from any real fear that they might be followed, but each time Bert had discounted the movement and was lying flat on the ground.

As the latter had surmised, the most of the way lay through a genuine wilderness, over mountain trails and through ravines that lent themselves admirably to the lawless purposes of the outlaws. Probably since the old Indian days, no human feet beside their own had trodden these wilds that offered no temptations to the farmer or grazier.

Before long the sun had vanished over the western rim and twilight came on rapidly. This rendered Bert's task, easier by diminishing the chances of detection, and as the twilight deepened into dusk, he gradually decreased the distance until, when it was fully dark, he had ventured to draw so near that he could hear the jingle of their trappings and an occasional monosyllable that passed between the riders.

Suddenly, as they rode into a little valley, a light gleamed out from a shack half a mile distant. It was the first sign of a human habitation Bert had seen. At the sight, an oath of satisfaction broke from the leader, and the three urged on their horses, who responded willingly. It was evident that they had reached the end of their journey.

As they dashed into the clearing in front of the house, the door was thrown open and several men came out to greet the newcomers. The saddles were taken from the horses' backs and they were turned loose to graze. Then the party entered the house and the door was closed.

For a few minutes Bert remained perfectly motionless. There had been no barking of dogs, and, after listening intently, he became convinced that no living thing was out of doors in the vicinity of the shack. With infinite caution he wormed his way along the ground and, reaching a window in the rear of the house, drew himself to the sill and peered over the edge.

There were six men gathered about a table in the center of the room, upon which a seventh, who seemed to be the cook, was placing dishes of bacon and beans. The chief, whose arm had been bathed and rebound in a cotton bandage, was seated at the head of the table. A bottle of whiskey was passing from hand to hand as a preliminary to the more substantial part of the meal, and the men who had just arrived were evidently retailing to their fellow rascals the events that had led up to the shooting.

So engrossed was Bert in watching the outlaws, that he did not see or hear the approach of a dark figure stealing up behind him. An arm shot out and a pistol butt came down on his head with a crash. A myriad of sparks flashed before his eyes, there was the roar of a cataract in his ears, and he fell to the ground like a log.

When consciousness came back to him it was morning. He was lying on the floor of the shack and the hot sun was streaming in upon him. His head ached horribly, and for a moment he wondered where he was. Then gradually he recalled the events of the day before, the fracas in the saloon, the tracking of the rustlers, the looking in at the window. But then it was night, and now it was broad daylight. What had happened to him?

He put his hand to his head and felt that his hair was matted with blood. Then he tried to rise to his feet, but found that they were tied together, and sank back with a groan. The wall of the house was just behind him, and he edged painfully toward it, until he was able to sit up and have some support for his back. Then with swimming eyes he looked around him.

As his vision cleared, he saw that there were two men sitting in the center of the room. They had not spoken a word, but had watched with a sort of amused interest his gradual coming back to life. In one of them he recognized the outlaw captain, and the other was the burly, red-haired giant, whose trail he had followed the afternoon before. There was no trace of the others and they had evidently gone to attend to the stock, or on some errand connected with the operations of the band.

The leader's eyes fastened on Bert with a penetrating glare, as though he sought to read the secrets of his soul. The captive met his look calmly and defiantly, and for a moment there was a silent duel. But Bert's gaze remained level, and the captain, a little disconcerted at his failure to make his prisoner cringe, resorted to taunts.

"Feel kind o' wobbly, eh?" he jeered. "Got a bad little hangover from last night? Perhaps we were a little playful, but it's just our hearty way of welcomin' strangers. 'Specially when they come without an invitation and we ketches them peepin' through the winders. But we don't mean no harm, do we, Red?" and he leered at his companion, who grinned dutifully in response to his leader's humor.

Bert made no answer.

"Now look here, young feller," snapped the speaker, dropping his elaborate sarcasm and veering round to his natural ferocity, "you ain't tongue-tied, I reckon, and I want to know right quick, pronto, what you're doin' round these diggin's, anyhow. One of our men comin' in from the stables caught you spyin' through the winder. He gave yer one on the nob, and dragged yer in here. Now, who are yer, where do yer come from and what are yer doin' in these parts. Speak quick now, or by——" and he broke into a torrent of vile oaths and death-dealing threats, while he fingered nervously the knife that hung in his belt.

Before Bert could reply one of the band entered the room. He glanced at the prisoner, and a sudden recognition leaped to his eyes.

"I know that feller," he exclaimed excitedly, turning to his chief. "I couldn't just place him last night when his eyes was shut, but now I'm plumb sure of him. He's livin' over to the Melton ranch with a couple of pals of his'n. Seen him there more than once. Ain't that straight?" to Bert.

"Yes," said Bert boldly, "that's straight."

The man's identification was absolute and the time for silence or evasion was past. He was trapped and absolutely in their power. That they would kill him he had little doubt. A life more or less meant little to these ruthless scoundrels. But if he had to meet death, he would meet it unafraid.

The name of the ranch owner acted on the chief like an electric shock. He leaped to his feet with a curse.

"So Melton sent you to spy on us, did he?" he demanded furiously.

"He did not," answered Bert.

There was a conviction in the tone that checked the headlong rush that the captain had seemed about to make. He sat down again and pondered, his face working with rage and apprehension. At last he reached a decision, and Bert read in his eyes that his doom had been pronounced.

"It don't make no difference whether yer tellin' the truth or lyin'," he snarled. "Ye've learned too much fur me to let yer live. If I turned yer loose, ye'd have Melton and his bunch down on us in no time. Keep a close watch on him, Red," he commanded as he rose to his feet. "I've got some things to look after that'll keep me busy till dinner-time, and after that we'll put this maverick where he won't do no more spyin'."

"How about breakfast?" asked Bert coolly. "You're not going to starve me to death, are you?"

The outlaw looked at him with astonishment, not unmixed with a sort of grudging admiration.

"Ye're a cool one," he responded after a moment's hesitation. "Ye'd better be thinkin' of sayin' yer prayers instead of eatin'. Rustle a little grub fer 'im, Red, though it seems plumb sinful to waste good chuck on a feller that's as good as dead already." And with this ominous remark he went out, accompanied by the man who had identified the captive, leaving Bert alone with his jailer.

"Red" got together some cold meat and beans and placed them on the floor within Bert's reach. He ate heartily, knowing that above everything else he must preserve his strength. And while he ate his mind was busy.

At any rate, he had a little respite. It would be at least two hours before noontime, and many things might happen before then. He did not disguise from himself that his situation was desperate. But, though there might be but one chance in a thousand of escape, he was determined to find and seize that chance.

His feet had been tied in such a manner that while, if he stood up, he would be able to take steps a foot apart, he could by no possibility run away. The knot at each ankle was skillfully looped in cowboy fashion, and under the watchful eyes of "Red" there was no chance to unfasten them. His knife and pistol had been taken from him, as well as his watch and money. So thoroughly had he been "frisked" that, as he felt his pockets carelessly, he found that nothing had been left except a bunch of keys that the rustlers had disdained as booty, and a convex piece of glass that belonged to an old telescope that he had been taking apart a day or two before.

As his hand came in contact with it a thought sprang into his mind that sent his pulses leaping in wild delirium. Could he do it? Why not?

Without any pretence of concealment he drew it with the keys from his pocket and fingered it idly, looking out of the window as though his thoughts were far away. "Red" looked at the articles, recognized their harmless character, and with an indifferent grunt went on smoking.

The fierce sun of the dog days was coming hotly through the open window. Still handling the glass dreamily, Bert brought it in such a position that its convex surface gathered the rays of the sun into one blistering shaft. This he directed on the center of the rope that stretched between his feet.

Slowly but surely it began to darken. The tiny threads of which it was composed twisted and shriveled and broke. Bert hunched up his knees, and sat as though rapt in brooding contemplation, while all the time that tiny shaft bored deeper and deeper into the rope like a red hot iron.

For half an hour this continued until Bert was convinced that the rope was burned to the core, and that under a vigorous effort it would snap like thread.

He moved around uneasily, fidgeting and twisting with an occasional groan until "Red" unbent sufficiently from his surly indifference to ask him "what was eatin' of him."

"I'm in a fearfully cramped position," explained Bert, meekly. "Do you mind if I stand up for a minute and stretch?"

"Red" cogitated a moment.

"No law agin it, I reckon," he conceded ungraciously.

Bert labored painfully and clumsily to his feet, yawned wearily and stretched his arms above his head. Then with one quick jerk he burst the rope and went into "Red" like a thunderbolt. Before that crashing impact of bone and muscle that had triumphed on many a football field, the startled outlaw hit the floor with a tremendous thump, while Bert's sinewy hands tightened on his throat.

But there was no resistance, and after a moment Bert relaxed his grasp. The rustler's head had struck on the sill of the door and the blow had rendered him unconscious.

Springing to his feet, Bert grasped the knife that lay on the table, and sawed desperately at the ends of rope that dangled about his feet. A few minutes sufficed and he was free. Then he took the revolver from the belt of his fallen enemy, and, after a swift glance round the clearing, bolted for the woods like a deer.

He had almost reached cover when he heard a yell behind him and a bullet zipped past his head. He turned and saw one of the outlaws rushing from the corral behind the house, while others, attracted by the shot, were running to mount their horses. Then he dived into the woods and ran for his life.

Through the forest aisles he slipped like a shadow, and for a time he more than held his own. But his pursuers had the advantage of knowing the ground, while he had to choose his course on the spur of the moment. He lost precious seconds in dodging obstacles, and he could hear the clatter of horses coming nearer and nearer. At any moment a bullet might bring him down.

The wound in his head was bleeding now under his tremendous exertions, and he began to grow dizzy and faint. But, although his strength was ebbing, his heart was as high and his spirit as undaunted as ever. He would never surrender. As a last resource he had his revolver, and, if he had to die, he would take some of the outlaws with him. The thud of hoofs was nearer now, and bullets began to whiz past him. A voice that he knew was that of the leader of the gang shouted to him to halt. Before him was a thinning of the woods that indicated open country. On a level course they could never get him. His second wind was coming back and he would distance them yet. On, on, he went, running like the wind.

A few rods ahead the trail bent round in a sweeping curve, and as Bert approached it on flying feet, he heard horsemen coming from that direction. With a groan he halted. They had him surrounded, then. He had no chance. The game was up. He drew his revolver and dropped on his knee to aim.

And then round the curve with a rush and a roar, riding like fiends, came Melton, Dick and Tom, with twenty cowboys at their back.

There was a wild whoop when they caught sight of Bert, and his comrades flung themselves from the saddle and rushed toward him. Melton, without dismounting, reached over and gave him a bear grip that said more than words. Then he straightened up and rode on at the head of his men to meet the rustlers.

The latter, however, did not await his coming. They broke and ran, bending low over the necks of their horses. But Melton's blood was up and he rode them down relentlessly. Rifle and revolver shots merged into one crackling fusillade. The cornered outlaws fought to the last ditch when overtaken, and no one asked for quarter. And when at last the fight was over, five, including the captain, lay stretched lifeless upon the ground. One, by hard riding and his knowledge of the country, had escaped, and "Red," still looking dazed and foolish, was a prisoner.

The cowboys were for stringing him up on the spot, but Bert, who had swung up behind Dick and been in at the finish, pleaded hard that his life might be spared.

"You win," conceded Melton. "You've done too much for me to refuse you anything. We'll turn him over to the sheriff, and he'll have all the chance that's coming to him, which, between you and me, I think is mighty little."

Then he turned to Pedro, who, as Bert now noticed for the first time, was sitting tied upon his horse and guarded by two of the ranchmen.

"Cut his ropes," he commanded, "and turn him loose. I promised the hound his life if he led me to the rustlers' camp, and I keep my word."

Melton gathered his force together and they took up their march for home, jubilant at the success of the expedition.

"It's all due to you, you young dare-devil," said Melton, as he and the reunited comrades rode back at the head of the squad. "Sandy found your pony neighing to get in the corral, and brought your note to Dick. I nabbed Pedro and handled him some savage until the fellow wilted. Then we saddled and started out at the first sign of daybreak and you know the rest. And I guess, by thunder, that we got here just in time."

And when they reached the ranch, motherly Mrs. Melton folded him in her arms with tears in her eyes, unable to speak. She washed and bandaged the wound, which proved to be not serious, and sent him straightway off to bed. Bert laughingly protested, but he had to yield.

It was with immense regret, a few days later, that the boys parted from their warm-hearted host and hostess. But duty and the East were calling, and they had to go. They had passed a glorious summer, full of the excitement in which their adventurous souls delighted. Far out from the car windows they leaned and waved their hands, until the kindly figures on the platform were lost to sight.

The cowboys too had turned out in a body to bid their friends good-by, and, as the train started, they tossed their hats in the air and fired their six-shooters till their cartridges gave out. Then they wheeled their bronchos and headed for the ranch.

"No use talkin'," Sandy broke out suddenly that night as they were smoking their pipes in the bunkhouse, "that Wilson is the finest feller that ever wore shoe leather."

Buck, who was half asleep, roused himself.

"Oh, I wouldn't go quite so far as that," he drawled, mistaking the reference. "Still, he's makin' a pretty fair President."

"Shucks," snorted Sandy, "I didn't mean him. I was talkin' of Bert."

THE END