accidental touch of the spurs, plodded out to the mesa with head held
sideways.

The rider's hands grew numb and he dropped the reins over the horn and
shoved his hands in his pockets. Unaccustomed to riding he grew weary
and, despite the storm, he drowsed, to awaken with a start as gusts of
wind swept against his face. He raised his dripping hat and shook the
water from it. Then he crouched shivering in the saddle. He cursed
himself for a fool and longed for shelter and the warmth of a fire.
Slowly a feeling of helplessness stole over him and he pictured himself
returning to the Concho and asking forgiveness of his brother. Yet he
kept stubbornly on, glancing ahead from time to time until at last he
saw the dim edge of the distant timber--a black line against the
darkness. He urged his horse to a trot, and was all but thrown as the
animal suddenly avoided a prairie-dog hole. The sweep of the storm was
broken as he entered the farther timber. Then came the muffled roll of
thunder and an instant white flash. The horse reared as a bolt struck
a pine. Came the ghastly whistle of flying splinters as the tree was
shattered. Corliss grabbed the saddle-horn as the horse bolted through
the timberlands, working against the curb to reach the open. Once more
on the trail the animal quieted. They topped a gentle rise. Corliss
breathed his relief. Soper's cabin was in the hollow below them.

Cautiously the horse worked sideways down the ridge, slipping and
checking short as the loose stones slithered beneath his feet. At the
bottom of the hollow Corliss reined up and shouted. The wind whipped
his call to a thin shred of sound that was swept away in the roar of
the storm. Again he shouted. As though in answer there came a burning
flash of blue. The dripping trees surrounding the hollow jumped into
view to be blotted from sight as the succeeding crash of thunder