of the string of box-cars. Guided by Donna's screams, Bob McGraw sent
his horse away at a tearing gallop, lifting him in great leaps across
the maze of railroad tracks, and in a shower of flying cinders brought
him up, almost sitting, in the little foot-path between two lines of
track. Almost under Friar Tuck's front feet, Donna was struggling in
the grasp of three ruffians, one of whom was endeavoring to tie a
handkerchief across her mouth. The velocipede had been derailed by
means of a car-stake placed across the track.

Bob McGraw's long gun rose and fell three times, and at each deadly
drop a streak of flame punctured the moon-light. The three assailants
went down, shot through their respective legs--which remarkable
coincidence was not a coincidence at all, but merely a touch of kindly
consideration on the part of Bob McGraw, who didn't believe in killing
his man when wounding him would serve the same purpose.

As the three brutes dropped away from her the man from Owens river
valley lowered his weapon, and Donna, pale, terrorized and disheveled,
reeled toward him. He swung his horse a little, leaned outward and
downward, and with a sweep of his strong left arm he lifted her off the
ground and set her in front of him on Friar Tuck's neck, just as one of
the wounded thugs straightened up, cut loose with his bulldog gun and
shot Bob McGraw through the right breast.

Donna heard a half-suppressed "Oh!" from her deliverer, and felt him
sway forward a little. Then, seeming to summon every atom of grit and
strength he possessed, he whirled his horse, scuttled away around the
rear of the box-car, out of danger, and set Donna on the ground.

"Wait here" he commanded, through teeth clenched to keep back the blood