In an instant the wild mustangs
are racing south. Valois dashes along in pursuit. He has warned his
men to use no firearms till absolutely necessary. He shouts to his
two followers to wait till the last. He would capture, not kill,
these three spies.
Out from the slopes below, the main column, at a brisk trot, cross
the valley. They are led by the quick-eyed scout, who knows how to
throw them on the narrowing suspected region. Love's men and the
band of Joaquin, if here, must soon meet. The three men in advance
ride up at different points. They have seen pursuer and pursued
galloping madly towards them. Instantly the man following the first
rider darts northward, and spurring up a ridge disappears, followed
by two of the three scouts in advance. The other rider draws up
and stands his ground with his servant. As Valois and his companions
ride up, the crack, crack, crack, of heavy dragoon revolvers is wafted
over the ridge. It is now too late for prudence. The horseman at
bay has wheeled. Maxime recognizes the old Don.
Miguel Peralta is no man to be bearded in his own lair, unscathed.
He spurs his horse back towards the ranch. He fires rapidly into
the three pursuers as he darts by. He is a dangerous foe yet.
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