LITMIR.BIZ

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the flanks with his spurs and headed it along the ridge, convinced that a storm was coming and suddenly realizing that he was many miles from shelter.

      He had traveled only a little distance when clouds of sand and dust, wind-driven, enveloped him, blinding him again, stinging his face and hands and blotting out the landmarks upon which he depended to guide him to the Circle Bar. The sky had grown blacker; even the patch of blue that he had seen in the rift between the distant mountains was now gone. There was nothing above him–it seemed–except inky black clouds, nothing below but chaos and wind. He could not see a foot of the trail and so he gave the pony the rein, trusting to its instinct.

      When Norton had provided him with an outfit the inevitable tarpaulin had not been neglected. Hollis remembered that this was attached to the cantle of the saddle, and so, after he had proceeded a little way along the crest of the ridge, he halted the pony, dismounted, unstrapped the tarpaulin, and folded it about him. Then he remounted and continued on his way, mentally thanking Norton for his foresight.

      The pony had negotiated the ridge; had slowly loped down its slope to a comparatively low and level stretch of country, and was traveling steadily forward, when Hollis noticed a change in the atmosphere. It had grown hot again–sultry; the heat seemed to cling to him. An ominous calm had succeeded the aerial disturbance. From a great distance came a slight sound–a gentle sighing–gradually diminishing until it died away entirely. Then again came the ominous, premonitory silence–an absolute absence of life and movement. Hollis urged the pony forward, hoping the calm would last until he had covered a goodly part of the distance to the Circle Bar. For a quarter of an hour he went on at a good pace. But he had scarcely reached the edge of a stretch of broken country–which he dreaded even in the daylight–when the storm was upon him.

      It did not come unheralded. A blinding flash of lightning illuminated miles of the surrounding country, showing Hollis the naked peaks of ridges and hills around him; gullies, draws, barrancas, the levels, lava beds, fantastic rock shapes–mocking his ignorance of the country. He saw them all for an instant and then they were gone and darkness–blacker than before–succeeded. It was as though a huge map had suddenly been thrust before his eyes by some giant hand, an intense light thrown upon it, and the light suddenly turned off. Immediately there came a heavy crash as though the Storm-Kings, having marshalled their forces, had thrown them together in one, great, clashing onrush. And then, straight down, roaring and shrieking, came the deluge.

      The wise little plains-pony halted, standing with drooping head, awaiting the end of the first fierce onslaught. It lasted long and when it had gone another silence, as ominous as the preceding one, followed. The rain ceased entirely and the pony again stepped forward, making his way slowly, for the trail was now slippery and hazardous. The baked earth had become a slimy, sticky clay which clung tenaciously to the pony’s hoofs.

      For another quarter of an hour the pony floundered through the mud, around gigantic boulders, over slippery hummocks, across little gullies, upon ridges and small hills and down into comparatively level stretches of country. Hollis was beginning to think that he might escape a bad wetting after all when the rain came again.

      This time it seemed the Storm-Kings were in earnest. The rain came down in torrents; Hollis could feel it striking against his tarpaulin in long, stinging, vicious slants, and the lightning played and danced along the ridges and into the gullies with continuing energy, the thunder following, crashing in terrific volleys. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, and the only consoling thought was that the deluge would prove a God-send to the land and the cattle. Hollis began to wish that he had remained in Dry Bottom for the night, but of course Dry Bottom was not to be thought of now; he must devote all his energy to reaching the ranch.

      It was slow work for the pony. After riding for another quarter of an hour Hollis saw, during another lightning flash, another of his landmarks, and realized that in the last quarter of an hour he had traveled a very short distance. The continuing flashes of lightning had helped the pony forward, but presently the lightning ceased and a dense blackness succeeded. The pony went forward at an uncertain pace; several times it halted and faced about, apparently undecided about the trail. After another half hour’s travel and coming to a stretch of level country, the pony halted again, refusing to respond to Hollis’s repeated urging to go forward without guidance. For a long time Hollis continued to urge the animal–he cajoled, threatened–but the pony would not budge. Hollis was forced to the uncomfortable realization that it had lost the trail.

      For a long time he sat quietly in the saddle, trying in the dense darkness to determine upon direction, but he finally gave it up and with a sudden impulse took up the reins and pulled the pony to the left, determined to keep to the flat country as long as possible.

      He traveled for what seemed several miles, the pony gingerly feeling its way, when suddenly it halted and refused to advance. Something was wrong. Hollis leaned forward, attempting to peer through the darkness ahead, but not succeeding. And now, as though having accomplished its design by causing Hollis to lose the trail, the lightning flashed again, illuminating the surrounding country for several miles.

      Hollis had been peering ahead when the flash came and he drew a deep breath of horror and surprise. The pony had halted within a foot of the edge of a high cliff whose side dropped away sheer, as though cut with a knife. Down below, perhaps a hundred feet, was an immense basin, through which flowed a stream of water. To Hollis’s right, parallel with the stream, the cliff sloped suddenly down, reaching the water’s edge at a distance of two or three hundred feet. Beyond that was a stretch of sloping country many miles in area, and, also on his right, was a long, high, narrow ridge. He recognized the ridge as the one on which he and Norton had ridden some six weeks before–on the day he had had the adventure with Ed Hazelton. Another flash of lightning showed him two cotton-wood trees–the ones pointed out to him by Norton as marking Big Elk crossing–the dead line set by Dunlavey and his men.

      Hollis knew his direction now and he pulled the pony around and headed it away from the edge of the cliff and toward the flat country which he knew led down through the canyon to Devil’s Hollow, where he had taken leave of Ed and Nellie Hazelton. He was congratulating himself upon his narrow escape when a flash of lightning again illuminated the country and he saw, not over a hundred feet distant, sitting motionless on their ponies, a half dozen cowboys. Also on his pony, slightly in advance of the others, a grin of derision on his face, was Dunlavey.

      Chapter XI. Picking Up the Trail

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      At about the time that the storm had overtaken Hollis, Potter was unsaddling his pony at the Circle Bar corral gate. A little later he was on the wide lower gallery of the ranchhouse washing the stains of travel from his face and hands. At supper he was taciturn, his face deeply thoughtful. Had Ten Spot come? What had been the outcome of the meeting? These questions preyed on his mind and brought furrows into his face.

      At supper he caught Norton watching him furtively and he flushed guiltily, for he felt that in spite of Hollis’s order to say nothing to Norton he should have told. He had already informed Norton that Hollis intended remaining in Dry Bottom until a later hour than usual, but he had said nothing about the intended visit of Ten Spot to the Kicker office. Loyalty to Hollis kept him from communicating to Norton his fears for Hollis’s safety. It was now too late to do anything if he did tell Norton; whatever had been done had been done already and there was nothing for him to do but to wait until nine o’clock.

      After he finished his meal he drew a chair out upon the gallery and placing it in a corner from where he could see the Dry Bottom trail he seated himself in it and tried to combat the disquieting fears that oppressed him. When Norton came out and took a chair near him he tried to talk to the range boss upon those small subjects with which we fill our leisure, but he could not hold his thoughts to these trivialities. He fell into long silences; his thoughts kept going back to Dry Bottom.

      When the rain came he felt a little easier, for he had a hope that Hollis might have noticed the approach of the storm and decided to remain in town until it had passed. But after the rain had ceased

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