"No!" she cried, coming out in open rebellion.
"Well, I won't leave you—that's all!" she declared, as he turned to command her. "Oh, come along, Bud!" She laid an impulsive hand on his arm and he thrust his gun back into the sling with a thud.
"All right!" he said. "Can't stop to talk about it. Go ahead—and flay the hide off of that roan!"
They were less than a mile from the line, but the rurales had foreseen their ruse in dropping into the gulch and had turned at the same time to intercept them. They were pushing their fresh horses to the utmost now across the open prairie, and as the roan lagged and faltered in his stride Bud could see that the race was lost.
"Head for that monument!" he called to Gracia, pointing toward one of the international markers as he faced their pursuers. "You'll make it—they won't shoot a woman!"
He reached for his gun as he spoke.
"No, no!" she cried. "Don't you stop! If you do I will! Come on!" she entreated, checking her horse to wait for him. "You ride behind me—they won't dare shoot at us then!"
Bud laughed shortly and wheeled in behind her, returning his gun to its sling.
"All right," he said, "we'll ride it out together then!"
He laid the quirt to the roan. In the whirl of racing bushes a white monument flashed up suddenly before them. The rurales were within pistol-shot and whipping like mad to head them. Another figure came flying along the line, a horseman, waving his hands and motioning. Then, riding side by side, they broke across the boundary with the baffled rurales yelling savagely at their heels.