"You've got a hunch that the rurales are on our trail," said Waring, as
they rode on.

"It is so, señor."

"How do you know?"

"I cannot say. But it is so. They have left the railroad and are
following us."

Waring smiled in the dark. "Dex, here, has been trying to tell me that
for an hour."

"And still the señor does not hasten!"

"I am giving your cayuse a chance to make the grade. We'll ride an hour
longer."

Ramon bowed his head. The horses plodded on, working up the first
gentle slope of the foothills. The brush loomed heavier. A hill star
faded on the edge of the higher range. Ramon's lips moved and he crossed
himself.

Waring hummed a song. He was not unhappy. The tang of life was his
again. Again he followed a trail down which the light feet of Romance
ran swiftly. The past, with its red flare of life, its keen memories and
dulled regrets, was swept away by the promise of dawn and the unknown.
"A clean break and a hard fight," he murmured, as he reined up to rest
his horse. Turning, he could distinguish Ramon, who fingered the