and then I'll get a horse and come after you. I thought my fighting days were over, but I've still got one good fight under my belt. Go ahead, my boy. You're the real stuff and I wish I had a son like you. You make me proud of being an American. I'll do my best to be in at the death, and God help those greasers if I get them under my guns."

His warmth and eagerness proved that Bert had made no mistake in enlisting him as their ally at this time of deadly need. With a fervent word of thanks and a crushing hand grip, Tom leaped from the train and sped back to the comrade who was impatiently awaiting him. A hurried report of his mission and they were off on the trail.

What was at the end of that trail? Dick, alive or dead? Rescue or defeat? A joyful reunion or graves for three? All they knew was that, whatever awaited them, it was not disgrace. And they grimly pulled their belts tighter and pressed forward.

As they climbed upward they came to an open space from which they had a wide view of the surrounding country. As they looked back to the south, they heard the faint whistle of the departing train and saw the thin veil of smoke that it left behind. Not until that moment did they realize how utterly alone they were. It was the snapping of the last link that bound them to civilization. With the swiftness of a kaleidoscope their whole life had changed. That morning, without the slightest idea of what fate had in store for them, they had been together, exchanging jest and banter; now one of their comrades was a captive in the power of desperate brigands and they were on their way to save him or die with him. It was a forlorn hope; but forlorn hopes have a way of winning out in this world, where grit is at a premium, and although they were sobered at the awful odds against them, they were not dismayed.

If they should be too late! This was the terrible fear that haunted them. Already the afternoon had advanced and their shadows were growing longer behind them. Bert consulted his watch. Night comes on suddenly in those latitudes and there were only a few hours of the precious daylight left. Whatever they did that day would have to be done before darkness set in. It was difficult enough to follow the trail by daylight, but at night it would be utterly impossible. Since they had not killed Dick at once the probability was that his life would be safe during the flight. But at night they would be resting, with nothing to do but drink and gamble and indulge in every vice of their depraved natures. What deviltry might come to the surface, what thirst for blood and death that could only be slaked in the torture of their captive! Nine-tenths of the world's crime is committed under cover of the night, and it is not without reason that Satan has been called the "Prince of Darkness."

Such thoughts as these gave an added quickness to their steps. The way led steadily uphill. The path was rough and they tripped often over the tangled undergrowth. Long creepers reached down like snakes to grasp them from the branches overhead. Once they narrowly escaped a treacherous bog that got a firm grip on Tom's feet, and from which Bert only pulled him out by the utmost exertion of his strength. At times they lost the trail altogether, and fumed for nearly an hour before they took up the thread again. At the brook through which Dick's captors had walked their horses, they had almost begun to despair, when an exclamation of Tom's showed that he had found the spot where they had left the water. But through all these vexations, they stuck to the work with dogged tenacity. Then suddenly, almost without warning, night came down on them like a blanket. There was nothing of the long dusk and waning light common to northern climes. Five minutes earlier there was light enough for them to read by. Five minutes later and they could not see their hand before their face.

"Well, Tom, old scout," said Bert, "it's no go for to-day. We've got to go into camp."

"Yes," agreed Tom, bitterly, "we've done our best, but our best isn't good enough. Poor Dick——"

"Brace up, old fellow," replied Bert, feigning a cheerfulness he did not feel, "we'll get there yet. To-morrow's a new day. And remember that this same darkness is holding up the guerillas too. They've got to go into camp and they're not getting any further ahead of us. Likely enough they'll feel pretty secure now and they won't be stirring so early to-morrow, while we'll be afoot at the first streak of daylight. What we've got to do now is to figure out the best and safest way to spend the night."

Near the spot where they were when darkness had overtaken them, was a grassy knoll, at the edge of which uprose a giant rock. At the foot of this they drew together enough of branches and shrubs to make a rude bed, and prepared to settle down and spend as best they could the hours before the coming of the dawn. They did not dare to make a fire, lest some prying eyes might discover their location. They had nothing to cook anyway, but the fire would have served to keep up their spirits and the smoke would have kept off the mosquitoes that hovered over them in swarms. It would have helped also to drive the chill from their bones, brought on by the heavy mists that rose from the lush vegetation and set their teeth to chattering. They drew close together for the companionship, and munched their bread and meat in silence. They were feeling the reaction that follows sustained effort and great excitement, and their hearts were too sick and sore for speech.

Then suddenly while they brooded—as suddenly as the sun had set—the moon arose and flooded the world with glory.

It put new life into the boys. They took heart of hope. Their mental barometer began to climb.

"I say, Bert," exclaimed Tom, eagerly voicing the thought that struck them both at once, "couldn't we follow the trail by moonlight?"

"I don't know," answered Bert, quite as excitedly. "Perhaps we can.
Let's make a try at it."

They started to their feet and hurried to the spot where they had left the trail. Bathed in that soft luminous splendor, it certainly seemed as though they should have no difficulty in following it as easily as by day. But they soon found their mistake. It was an unreal light, a fairy light that fled from details and concealed rather than revealed them. It lay on the ground like a shimmering, silken mesh, but through its tremulous beauty they could not detect the signs they sought. They needed the merciless, penetrating light of day. Their hopes were dashed, but they had to yield to the inevitable. They were turning back dejectedly to their improvised camp, when Bert stopped short in his tracks.

"What was that?" he whispered, as he grasped Tom's arm.

"I don't hear anything," returned Tom.

"I did. Listen."

They stood like stones, scarcely venturing to breathe. Then Tom, too, caught the sound. It was the faint, far-off tramp of horses. Bert threw himself down with his ear to the ground. A moment later he jumped to his feet.

"Three horses at least," he said quickly. "Get in the shadow of the rock and have your gun ready."

They crouched down where it was blackest and strained their eyes along the road up which they had come. Nearer and nearer came the cautious tread, and their fingers fidgeted on the trigger. Then a faint blur appeared on the moonlit path. Another moment and it resolved itself into a burly figure riding a wiry broncho and leading two others. The moonlight fell full on his rugged face and the boys gave a simultaneous gasp.

"Melton!" they cried, as they rushed toward him.

At the first sound, the newcomer had grasped a