Cummings hastily changed his apparel, putting on a pair of high boots and over them the fringed leather chapparels.  A wide sombrero replaced the derby hat, and when fully costumed he had on the business rig of a typical cow-boy.

He had hardly completed these arrangements when the noise of horse-hoofs on the pavement was heard.  Opening the shutter Cummings waved his hand, and placing his revolver in the holster ran down the steps.

He had written a note to his landlady saying that pressing business of the most urgent kind had suddenly called him out of town, and it was uncertain when he could return.  This he left on the table and the landlady saw him no more.

The horses were fresh, and striking into a canter the two men made for the open country.  The excitement and motion combined with the bracing air drove the fumes of the liquor from Cook’s head, and before many miles had been passed he was comparatively free from the terrible malady which threatened to consume him.

The suburbs were passed, and under the clear sky and bright stars, the willing horses spurned the frozen mud from beneath their feet as they flew, neck and neck, down the road.  Neither men had spoken a word since the start, but sitting low in the saddle, gave the horses loose reins nor checked them an instant.

They had left the road and were speeding over the frozen prairie, skirting a small clump of scrub oak, when just before them, a solitary horseman could be seen, leisurely walking his steed.  At the sudden appearance of the stranger, both men instinctively reined in their horses and pulled up short.  The man at that moment, heard them, and giving a hasty look backward, drove his spurs into his horse, dashed forward at full speed.

In sheer deviltry, Cummings did likewise, followed by Cook, and gave chase to the flying horseman.  It was nearly dawn.  The gray light was brightening the landscape, and, observing his game more closely, Cummings saw something familiar in his form; and when he glanced over his shoulder to see his pursuers, the heavy mustache could be seen, even in that uncertain light.

Placing his fingers to his lips, Jim gave three whistles, two short and one long sounds.  The shrill tones reached the stranger, who turned half around in his saddle and saw Cummings waving his hat.  Checking his speed somewhat he allowed the distance between them to become less, but holding his horse well in hand, if any signs of treachery were observed he could have some chance of escaping.

As the two men swept toward him they cried as in one voice:” 

“Moriarity!”

Moriarity, for such it was, immediately drew up his horse and the three friends were soon shaking hands.

“The fly-cops made it too hot for me, boys,” said Dan.  “I came within an ace of being caught.  One of the beaks had his hands on me, but I knocked him down and lit out.”

“Where are you bound for now?” asked Cummings.