ridden swiftly to the hill country, where his trail would have been lost
in the rocky ground of the ranges and where he would have had the
advantage of an unobstructed outlook from the high trails.

Ramon had said the rurales had entrained; were ahead of him to intercept
him. But Waring, wise in his craft, knew that the man-hunters would
search for tracks at every water-hole on the long northern trail. And if
they found his tracks they would follow him to the hills. They were as
keen on the trail as Yaquis and as relentless as wolves. Their horses,
raw-hide tough, could stand a forced ride that would kill an ordinary
horse. And Ramon's wiry little cayuse, though willing to go on until he
dropped, could not last much longer.

But to leave Ramon to the rurales was not in Waring's mind. "We'll keep
on, amigo," he said, "and in a few hours we'll know whether it's to be a
ride or a fight."

"I shall pray," whispered Ramon.

"For a fresh horse, then."

"No, señor. That would be of no use. I shall pray that you may escape.
As for me--"

"We'll hit the glory trail together, muchacho. If you get bumped off,
it's your own funeral. You should have stayed in Sonora."

Ramon sighed. The señor was a strange man. Even now he hummed a song in
the starlight. Was he, then, so unafraid of death that he could sing in
the very shadow of its wings?