Three hours after the posses scattered on their search for The Coyote, spurred by thoughts of the reward of a thousand dollars offered by San Jacinto county, and Judson Brown’s declaration that the reward would be increased by the thousands more which Arizona had laid upon the fugitive’s head, Rathburn smiled at the rosy dawn in supreme satisfaction.

He had not lost his man’s trail during the early morning hours. Time and again he had outwitted the man ahead when the latter had waited to scan the back trail for signs of pursuit; more than once he had gained ground when screened by timber growth close to the trail; every stretch of dust-filled trail had been taken advantage of, while the soft going underfoot had deadened the sound of his horse’s flying hoofs.

The bandit had traveled fast and he had kept steadily to the eastward. This last was what caused Rathburn to smile with satisfaction. The man for whose crime Rathburn was suspected was heading straight for Rathburn’s own stamping ground––the far-distant desert range, which he knew from the low horizon in the south to the white-capped peaks in the north. To catch up with him would be but a matter of a few hours, Rathburn reflected contentedly.

Nor had the posse gained upon the two men ahead. Brown’s men, perhaps, did not have as excellent specimens of horseflesh as Rathburn and his quarry 39 rode. Nor did they possess the trail knowledge, the tricks which Rathburn knew, and which the latter, more or less to his surprise, found that the man ahead knew. Whatever it was that caused that curling, sneering smile of contempt to play upon Rathburn’s lips at intervals, it was not scorn of the riding ability of the man he was pursuing.

Moreover, both men ahead were saving their horses’ strength against a probable spurt by the posse at daylight. It would not be a hard matter to follow their trail by the bright light of broad day. So far as he could determine, Rathburn did not believe the man ahead knew he was followed by a solitary rider who was between him and the hounds of the law.

Under the circumstances, the bandit would expect to be pursued by a number, Rathburn reasoned. He was ordering his pursuit on this theory, and he did not intend to take any more time than was absolutely necessary in catching up with the man ahead.

Rathburn’s horse had not been hard ridden the day preceding, nor for several days before that. He had journeyed westward by easy stages, taking his time, favoring his mount in anticipation of some unforeseen emergency which might require hard riding. And he well knew the extraordinary powers of speed and endurance which the animal possessed.

He frowned as he thought of the brand. He had not been under the impression that the iron his horse wore was generally known to the authorities. He would have to hole-up somewhere in the hills before long and attend to that brand. As it was, it was a dead give-away as to his identity. He could thank Brown for this bit of information, anyway.

With the dawn, Rathburn found it easier to keep on his man’s trail without being seen himself. He gained considerable until he estimated that he was not 40 more than a mile and a half, or two miles at most, behind.

The sun was up when he reached the crest of the high ridge where was the tall pine and the sign which he had first seen the afternoon before.

He hesitated, debating whether to let the printed notice remain with his penciled inscription about the Arizona reward on it, or to tear it down. Then he saw the man he was pursuing below on the trail. He moved swiftly out of sight down the eastern side of the ridge. But when he came to the next vantage point he discovered that his man had apparently seen him; for he was riding at a mad gallop on the trail which wound eastward along the edge of the hills.

“Now’s as good a time as any, hoss!” he cried to his mount as he drove in his spurs and dashed in swift pursuit.

Down the winding trail plunged horse and rider. The dun slipped and slid on the hard surface of the steep declivities and finally emerged upon the more open path which the man ahead was following.

Rathburn no longer made any attempt at concealment. He was after the man ahead, and, somewhere behind, a posse was in mad pursuit. If he were captured before he could overtake the bandit who was responsible for the robbery, the latter would very likely escape––was certain to make his get-away, in fact.

Rathburn called upon his horse by voice and spur for all the speed there was in him. He could see the fugitive ahead urging his horse to its utmost. The race was on in earnest. Thus they came to a long stretch of open, level trail. Here Rathburn’s horse began slowly to gain.

The man ahead turned in his saddle, and Rathburn saw the glint of sunlight on dull metal. He brought out his own gun. But the other did not fire. He 41 kept on, half-turned in the saddle, watching his pursuer keenly. Rathburn continued to gain upon him.

They now were less than half a mile apart, and the fugitive suddenly turned his horse due north, straight toward the hills, and sent a volley of shots whistling in his pursuer’s direction.

Rathburn held his fire. The bullets flew wide of their mark, and he could see his man reloading as he rode. Rathburn now cut across, racing for the point where he thought the other would reach the hills. His horse rose to the emergency with a tremendous burst of speed. He was close enough now to shoot with a reasonable certainty of scoring a hit on his flying target. But he had no desire to kill, and he could not be certain, at that distance, of merely wounding his quarry. He also recoiled from the thought that he might accidently hit the other’s splendid horse.

Just ahead a thin line of straggling pines ranged down the gradual slope from the first low ridge of the hills for which they were heading. Rathburn swung north and gained the shelter of this screen just as the other rider again began firing. The trees now were between them, and each was an equal distance from the gentle slope of the ridge.

Rathburn called upon his horse for a last, heartbreaking burst of speed and the dun made good. At the beginning of the slope to the ridge, Rathburn veered sharply to the right and burst through the trees a scant rod or two from his man. His gun was leveled straight at the other, who had been caught momentarily off his guard.

“Drop it!” shouted Rathburn, racing toward him.

The man’s right hand fell to his side while he checked his horse with his left. Rathburn rode in close to him and they came to a halt. Rathburn’s lips were curled in a smile of contempt. The other stared 42 at him, white-faced, his eyes wide and inquiring. The fingers of his right hand relaxed, and the gun fell to the ground. Rathburn swung low in the saddle and scooped it up, thrusting it into a pocket of his coat.

“Now beat it up over that ridge ahead,” Rathburn ordered. “And be quick about it. That posse may be close behind us.”

The other’s eyes lit up with surprise. “You––you’re not an officer?” he stammered.

“Shut up, you fool!” cried Rathburn. “You want to stay here an’ talk when there’s a score or two of men after us? I’m worse than an officer. Slope for that ridge now. Hurry!”

The man put the steel to his horse, and they dashed up the slope, crossed the ridge, and found themselves in a thick growth of timber which covered a large area.

“Pick your way into the middle of that patch of timber,” snapped out Rathburn. “An’ don’t forget I’ll be right close behind you. Get going––don’t gape!”

The captive’s face flushed at the other’s manner and the indubitable note of contempt in his voice. But he obeyed the instructions and pushed into the timber.

When they had proceeded some distance Rathburn called a halt. “Ever been in this country before?” he demanded with a sneer.

“Yes.” The other was more composed now. He studied his captor curiously and seemed more at ease. Evidently he was heartened by the fact that Rathburn had said he was not an officer and he believed him.

“I suppose you’re after what I’m carrying on me,” he said with a touch of bitterness. “I guess I’d have 43 had as much chance as I’ve got now if I’d started shootin’ even after you got the drop on me!”

Rathburn laughed harshly. “You never had a chance from the start, if you only knew it,” he jeered. “Why, you upstart, you’re not entitled to any chance!”

The other man’s face darkened in swift anger. “Brave talk,” he said sneeringly. “You’ve got me where you want me, so you can say anything.”

“I’ve got a pile to say,” replied Rathburn shortly. “But this isn’t the time or place to say it. We want to be good an’ away out of that posse’s path––an’ quick.”

“You might as well take what you’re after an’ then each of us can look out for himself,” was the hot retort.

Rathburn looked at the man quizzically. “You’ve got more spunk than I thought,” he mused.

He stared at the other man closely. The bandit could not have been more than twenty-five or twenty-six. He was tall, well-built, blond. His hair and eyes were about the color of Rathburn’s. But Rathburn particularly noted the man’s face, and whatever it was he saw there caused him to shrug and frown deeply.

“What’s your name?” he demanded coldly.

“Percy,” sneeringly replied the other.

“That’s good enough for me,” said Rathburn cheerfully. “All I need is a name to call you by. Now, Percy, if you’re acquainted with this country in here an’ can steer the way to where the posse’ll be liable to overlook us you better be leading on. I see you’ve ditched your other gun somewhere––you had two.”

“So you want me to take you where you’ll be safe so you can rob me, maybe shoot me down, an’ then make your get-away,” the other accused.

Rathburn looked him straight in the eyes. “If you think I’m the kind of a man who’d shoot another down in cold blood when he was helpless you don’t know much about human beings,” he said slowly. “I have no intention of murdering you or harming you a-tall, if you’re halfway careful. If you feel that it’s against your principles to lead this expedition to temporary safety, we can turn back toward Dry Lake. We’re going to do one thing or the other within one minute!”

“Oh, come on,” muttered the captive. He led the way through the timber to its western edge, then turned north in the shelter of the trees traversing a long, high, rocky ridge.

“Our horses won’t leave any tracks here,” he called back. “Or maybe you don’t care whether we leave any tracks or not,” he added sarcastically.

Rathburn spurred his horse alongside of him. “It doesn’t make a bit of difference to me,” he said. “You’re the one that’s got to be scared of that posse, Percy, not me. If it wasn’t for one thing I’d take you right down there to meet ’em!”

The other looked at him both in anger and perplexity. “Suppose you’d object to tellin’ what that one thing is,” he said savagely.

“Well, it may be that I feel sorry for you,” said Rathburn as if to himself. “An’ it may be that I want credit for bringing you in without the help of any posse an’ without them knowing it!”