“The sooner the better.”

“That’s me.  Blamed if ever I thought I’d be a hoss thief, but when a feller associates with Bill Lacy there’s no knowin’ what he will come to.  Howsumever, the foreman an’ I are good friends, an’ I don’t reckon he’d ever let me be hung fer this job.  We better try the other side o’ the road, Jim.”

They were in the flicker of light for scarcely an instant, merely two darting shadows, vanishing once more swiftly and silently into the gloom.  Nor were they much longer in releasing the two cow-ponies.  Westcott tied his bundle to the cantle of the saddle and then, bridle reins in hand, the docile animals following their new masters without resistance, the men led them over the smooth turf well back from the range of light.  They were a quarter of a mile from the Red Dog before Brennan, slightly in advance, ventured to enter the road.

“It’s safe enough now, Jim, an’ we don’t wanter lose no time.  Got the grub, haven’t yer?”

“Tied it on the saddle; which way do we go?”

“Straight south at the bridge; that will bring us to the old trail in about five miles, an’ after that the devil himself couldn’t find us.  Ever crossed Shoshone?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s a little bit o’ hell after sunup, an’ we’ll have a twenty mile ride before we strike water.  We’ll start slow.”

They swung into saddle, the road before them a mere black ribbon revealed only by the gleam of a few far-off stars peering through rifts in the clouds.  Brennan rode slightly in advance, trusting his mount largely to pick out the way, yet leaning forward eagerly scanning every shadow and listening for the slightest warning sound.  They were upon the grade leading to the bridge when his vigilance was rewarded.  There was some movement to the left, where the hotel trail led down the bank, and instantly both men drew up their ponies and remained intent and rigid.  Brennan’s hand rested on the butt of his revolver, but for the moment neither could determine what was moving in the intense blackness of the hillside.  Then something spectral advanced into the starlight of the road and confronted them.

“Is this you, Mr. Cassady?” asked a woman’s voice softly.

CHAPTER XXIV:  THE CAVE IN THE CLIFF

Dazed, helpless, yet continuing to struggle futilely, Stella realised little except giving a glance at the hated faces of her captors.  She heard Cateras’s voice ordering the men forward, vibrant with Spanish oaths, and trembling yet with the fury which possessed him—­but all else was a dim haze, out of which few remembrances ever came.  They were in a large room, opening into another behind, a heavy door between.  She was dragged forward, and thrust through this with no knowledge of what it was like.  She could not think; she was only conscious of a deadly, paralysing horror.  Cateras slammed the intervening door, and strode past.