Like a writhing snake, the Kelowna Road turned and 375 twisted round the hills which almost precipitated into the dark waters below.
The riders were now going Indian file owing to the darkness and the narrowness of the path. Phil, who was ahead––for he had a horse that refused to stay in the rear of any other horse––turned the first bend. He reined back suddenly, causing the others to do the same. He held up a warning hand.
Cautiously they looked ahead round the crumbling rock.
Half-way between where they were and the next turn, a lone horseman was standing, intent on the adjusting of the girths and heavy saddlebags on his steaming horse. He looked over his shoulder every second or so in the direction of the Landing, as if he feared he might be suddenly surprised.
“By God!” whispered Howden, atremble with excitement, “one of them!”
“Sssh!” cautioned Phil.
Gathering for a dash, they sprang round the turn with a yell, Phil’s horse fairly leaping ahead of the others.
The man by the horse looked up in astonishment. Evidently he had not been anticipating pursuit from that quarter. With an astounding agility for a man of his apparent bulk, he sprang clear from the ground into the saddle of his tall horse, and he was off like a whirlwind.
The three followed after at breakneck speed, but neither Jim’s horse nor Howden’s was a match for the great striding beast in front of them. Phil’s speedy little mare was the only one that could in any way hold its own.
They covered a mile in a heart-breaking pace, and by that time Phil was three hundred yards in front of 376 Jim and Howden, with the hunted man two hundred yards further ahead still.