He raged; he cursed himself and his God, for this second failure of his deed.  Then once again he abruptly thought of a chance whereby to redeem his galling failures.  His man on the horse would be more than an hour in reaching the river by the slopes.  A man on foot could beat him there, and beat him across to the farther side, from which to attack with surer aim—­from the cover of the willows by the ford.  The flood had subsided.  This Barger knew.  The water was hardly knee high on a man, and better than all, Van Buren would scarcely dream of such a plan as within the range of possibilities.

Laboriously, in a fever of impatience, Barger made shift, after strenuous work, to climb his barrier of rock.  Then up to the summit of the trail he sped, and down on the farther side.

Meantime Van, disgusted with himself for riding away from a fight, could only revile his useless gun and excuse himself a trifle because of his defenselessness.  The skirmish had served to arouse him, however, and for that he was thankful to the convict who had waited in the pass.

Then he wondered how it came at all that Matt should have thus been lying there in wait.  The fellow must have been informed, to prepare so elaborate a trap.  It hardly seemed as if a plot against his life could explain this trip that Beth had desired him to take.  He could scarcely credit a thing so utterly despicable, so murderous, to her, yet for what earthly reasons had she sent him on the trip with a letter the stage could have carried?

The thing was preposterous!  No woman on earth could have sanctioned an alliance with Barger.  But—­what of Bostwick—­the man who had spent a portion of his time with the liberated convicts?  A revenge like this would appeal to him, would seem to him singularly appropriate.  Beth could have lent her assistance to the plan without guilty knowledge of an outcome such as this, and Bostwick—­Beth knew that Barger was Van’s enemy.  He had told her so himself.  Facts were facts.  Her letter to Glen revealed her state of mind—­and here was this attack, a planned attack, proving conclusively that Barger had been prepared beforehand with knowledge of the trip.

From having been depressed before, Van was made thoroughly angry.  The whole thing was infamous, dastardly—­and Beth could not be acquitted.  Strangely enough, against the convict, Barger, the horseman felt no wrath.  Barger had a grievance, howsoever mistaken, that was adequate.  He was following his bent consistently.  He had made his threat in the open; he must plan out his work according to his wits.  He was simply a hunted beast, who turned upon his hunters.

It was Bostwick on whom Van concentrated a rising heat—­and he promised the man would find things warm in camp, and the fight only well under way.

Even when the summit was achieved, the broncho slacked off nothing of his pace.  Sweat glistened wetly upon him.  His bleeding ear was going backward and forward tremulously, as he listened for any word from Van, and for anything suspicious before them.  Van noted a certain wistfulness in the pony’s demeanor.