A man had halted just in the shade of the scrubby trees that lined the edge of the cañon. He started up at the noise of flying feet, and, still shading himself, gazed in the direction of the sound. What he saw was a woman on a maddened horse, keeping her seat with the skill of a practiced rider, yet being borne with dreadful speed toward the jagged rocks and almost impassable precipices which he knew lay at the entrance, not so very far beyond. As she came nearer he looked again, and then sprung madly forward. Had he been a moment sooner he might have grasped the bridle of the animal. As it was, Whirlwind flitted past him like a dream; in front of him was only the opposite wall of the chasm.
He heard the sound of an exclamation; then the crack of a rifle, and felt a something on his cheek as though a hot iron had been laid there. His arms were dropped by his side; they raised again convulsively. He cast a look around, and, as by instinct, he saw on the crown of the bank before him Charles Endicott, with a smoking rifle and a sneer on his face.
When Blaze came rushing down Crooked Cañon, hard on the trail of Edith, his blood trickling from numberless sharp scratches, though yet strong and nervous, he came suddenly upon a man lying stretched out at full length upon the ground, his face resting upon one of the very tracks of Edith's flying steed. When he had turned him over he found that this man was Harry Winkle. It did not take long to examine his hurts. He was still alive, though partially stunned, and he saw at a glance there was a wound on the side of his face from which the blood was slowly oozing.
When he had noted this much, Winkle gathered himself up, rose to a sitting posture and looked around with a wild stare.
"Right there," he muttered, pointing up the slope, "I saw him—Endicott! And Edith she went down the cañon. Let me go, I must find her first."
He got to his feet, looked around, caught up his rifle, moved off with a step rapidly growing firmer.
CHAPTER XIV.
HUNTED TO THE VERGE.