The sun was up when he reached the crest of the high ridge where was the tall pine and the sign which he had first seen the afternoon before.
He hesitated, debating whether to let the printed notice remain with his penciled inscription about the Arizona reward on it, or to tear it down. Then he saw the man he was pursuing below on the trail. He moved swiftly out of sight down the eastern side of the ridge. But when he came to the next vantage point he discovered that his man had apparently seen him; for he was riding at a mad gallop on the trail which wound eastward along the edge of the hills.
“Now’s as good a time as any, hoss!” he cried to his mount as he drove in his spurs and dashed in swift pursuit.
Down the winding trail plunged horse and rider. The dun slipped and slid on the hard surface of the steep declivities and finally emerged upon the more open path which the man ahead was following.
Rathburn no longer made any attempt at concealment. He was after the man ahead, and, somewhere behind, a posse was in mad pursuit. If he were captured before he could overtake the bandit who was responsible for the robbery, the latter would very likely escape––was certain to make his get-away, in fact.
Rathburn called upon his horse by voice and spur for all the speed there was in him. He could see the fugitive ahead urging his horse to its utmost. The race was on in earnest. Thus they came to a long stretch of open, level trail. Here Rathburn’s horse began slowly to gain.
The man ahead turned in his saddle, and Rathburn saw the glint of sunlight on dull metal. He brought out his own gun. But the other did not fire. He 41 kept on, half-turned in the saddle, watching his pursuer keenly. Rathburn continued to gain upon him.
They now were less than half a mile apart, and the fugitive suddenly turned his horse due north, straight toward the hills, and sent a volley of shots whistling in his pursuer’s direction.
Rathburn held his fire. The bullets flew wide of their mark, and he could see his man reloading as he rode. Rathburn now cut across, racing for the point where he thought the other would reach the hills. His horse rose to the emergency with a tremendous burst of speed. He was close enough now to shoot with a reasonable certainty of scoring a hit on his flying target. But he had no desire to kill, and he could not be certain, at that distance, of merely wounding his quarry. He also recoiled from the thought that he might accidently hit the other’s splendid horse.
Just ahead a thin line of straggling pines ranged down the gradual slope from the first low ridge of the hills for which they were heading. Rathburn swung north and gained the shelter of this screen just as the other rider again began firing. The trees now were between them, and each was an equal distance from the gentle slope of the ridge.