He led the horse through the gate and into the corral. There, he slipped the bridle off, uncinched and dragged the saddle toward him. As the polished, darkened seat turned to the bright sunlight, he saw that the leather had been defaced and, indignation mounting, he leaned over to inspect it. The resentment departed, a mingling of fear and triumph and rage rose within him, for on the saddle had been scratched in hasty, crude characters:
BOUND FOR MI
NE
HELP
No need to speculate as to the author of that message on the saddle. That Ann had been forced by circumstances to do the work furtively was as evident. And the combination of facts which rode uppermost in his confused mentality was this. Ann Lytton was being taken to the Sunset mine against her will; she had appealed to him for aid and, because of that, he knew that she had chosen between the two, between her husband and her honorable lover!
For a moment, mad, hot triumph filled him. He had done his best with the ruin of a man he had set out to reconstruct; he had groomed him well, conscientiously, giving him thorough care, great consideration, just to satisfy his own moral sense; he had given him back to Ann at the cost of intense suffering ... and it had not been enough for her; she was not satisfied. Beside her husband, bound for her husband's mountain home, she had found herself in her hour of need and had cried out to him for help!
Bruce calculated swiftly as he stood there. Lytton's trail from the ranch led straight eastward, toward the Sunset group. They had not ridden the whole forty-five miles at one stretch. He was satisfied of that. Obviously, they had stopped for the night and out in that country toward which they had started was only one ranch that would not take them miles out of their course. That was the home of Hi Boyd, a dozen miles straight east, six miles south and east from Yavapai, thirty-three miles from the Sunset group. By now they were making on, they could finish their journey before night....
And then recurred a thought that Bruce had overlooked in those moments of speculation, of quick thinking:
"Good God, Benny Lynch's waitin' for him ... with murder in his heart!" he cried aloud, the horror at the remembrance so sharp, the meaning of this new factor in the situation so portentous, that the words came from his lips unconsciously. He stood beside the horse, staring down at the message on the saddle again, bewildered, a feeling of helplessness coming over him.
"I can't let that happen, Abe, I can't!" he said. "I drove him there.... He must have gone because ... He's found out she was here all along ... he's blamed it on me.... He's crazy mad an' he's ridin' straight to his end!... It would free her, but I can't let it happen ... not that way ...
"It's up to you to get me to town," he cried as he reached for the bridle. "Just to Yavapai ... that's all.... You're th' best horse in th' southwest, but they've got too much of a start on you. We'll try automobiles this once, Pardner!"
In an incredibly short time the saddle was on, cinch tight. He gathered the reins, called to the sorrel and Abe, infected with his excitement, wheeled for the gate, the man running by his side. As the animal rounded into the road, Bruce vaulted into the saddle, pawed with his right foot for the flopping stirrup and leaning low on Abe's neck, shouted into his ears for speed.