“Well, well,” said he nervously, “now who’d a-thought you’d finished eatin’?”

“Oh please,” she said, “please go tell Mr. Van I’d rather he wouldn’t attempt to ride any horse again to-day.  Will you please go tell him that?”

“You bet your patent leathers!” said Gettysburg.  “You just go over and globe-trot the quartz-mill while I’m gone, and we’ll fix things right in a shake.”

He strode off in haste.  Beth watched him go.  She made no move towards the quartz-mill, which Gettysburg had indicated, over on the slope.

She soon grew restive, awaiting his return.  Elsa came out and sat down.  The old miner failed to reappear.

At length, unable to endure any longer her feeling of alarm and suspense, Beth resolutely followed where Gettysburg had gone, and soon came in sight of the stable and high corral.  Then her heart struck a blow of excitement in her breast, and her knees began to weaken beneath her.

CHAPTER VI

THE BATTLE

Too late to interfere in the struggle about to be enacted, the girl stood rigidly beside a great red pine tree, fixing her gaze upon Van, on whose heels, as he walked, jingled a glinting pair of spurs.

From the small corral he was leading forth as handsome an animal as Beth had ever seen, already saddled, bridled—­and blindfolded.  The horse was a chestnut, magnificently sculptured and muscled.  He was of medium size, and as trim and hard as a nail.  His coat fairly glistened in the sun.

Despite his beauty there was something about him that betokened menace.  It was not altogether that the men all stood away—­all save Van—­nor yet that the need for a blindfold argued danger in his composition.  There was something acutely disquieting in the backward folding of his ears, the quiver of his sinews, the reluctant manner of his stepping.

Beth did not and could not know that an “outlaw” is a horse so utterly abandoned to ways of broncho crime and equine deviltry that no man is able to break him—­that having conquered man after man, perhaps even with fatal results to his riders, he has become absolutely depraved and impossible of submission.  She only knew that her heart was beating rapidly, painfully, that her breath came in gasps, that her whole nervous system was involved in some manner of anguish.  She saw the Chinese cook run past to witness the game, but all her faculties were focused on the man and horse—­both sinister, tense, and grim.

Van had not turned in Beth’s direction.  He was wholly unaware of her presence.  He halted when the horse was well out towards the center of the open, and the outlaw braced awkwardly, as if to receive an attack.

With the bridle reins held in his hand at the pommel of the saddle, Van stood for a moment by the chestnut’s side, then, with incredible celerity of movement, suddenly placed his foot in the stirrup and was up and well seated before the blinded pony could have moved.