They had ridden an hour or more when Ted pulled in his pony.

“No use riding our ponies to death the first heat,” he said to Stella, with a smile.

“My cayuse is good for another hour,” said Stella; “I can tell by the way he’s going under me.”

“Yours would last because you’re such a light and easy rider.  You take weight off a pony.  But I’m a good deal heavier, and I can feel this fellow tiring, although he’d go until he dropped in his tracks if I’d let him.”

They walked their ponies over the springy sod beside the road, which was becoming fainter the farther they got from the town.  In the distance they could see the mountains, a dark mass against the sky.

“Some one on the road,” said Stella, pointing ahead.

“It is a little hazy.  Dust, I guess,” said Ted.  “I think we better hit it up a bit.  Perhaps it is Norris and his precious ‘grandson,’ and if it is we’ll get to them before they get to the mountains.”

They put their ponies, at a lope, and seemed to be catching up with the dust cloud rapidly.  Soon they were able to distinguish two riders.

“By Jove, I believe we are on the right track,” said Ted.

Stella’s bright eyes had been watching the riders in front of them for some time.

“Ted, it’s not Norris.  There are two riders, one behind the other, and they are coming this way,” she said.

Ted reined in his pony, and took a long look.

“You’re right, Stella,” he said.  “But, perhaps, we can get some news of the fugitives from them.”

Again they spurred forward.

“Ted, that’s Kit, as sure as you live,” cried Stella, “I’d know him anywhere.”

In a few minutes they were within hailing distance, and Ted gave the long yell, which was answered, and in a few minutes they were reining in beside Kit.  Behind him, securely bound to the back of Magpie, was old man Norris, who looked very crestfallen.

“Hello, Kit, you rascal, I see that you got him,” said Ted.

“You bet, and a merry chase I had after him,” answered Kit.

“Why, Kit, what’s the matter with your arm?” cried Stella.

Kit’s arm was hanging by his side, and his coat sleeve near his shoulder was stained with blood.

“Shot!” answered Kit laconically.

“Bad?” asked Stella anxiously.

“Not so very.  Just touched the bone.  But it has been bleeding like the deuce.”

“Ted, take charge of the prisoner.  Kit, get off that horse and let me see that wound.”

Stella’s commands were promptly obeyed, and Kit groaned slightly as Stella helped him off with his coat and cut away his sleeve.  He had received a nasty flesh wound near the shoulder, made by a ball of large caliber, which had passed clear through.

As soon as she had washed the wound with water from Ted’s canteen, and had bound it up, Kit felt much more comfortable.