Oldring's Masked Rider! Many times this strange rider, at once well known and unknown, had escaped pursuers by matchless riding.

He had to run the gantlet of vigilantes down the main street of Stone Bridge, leaving dead horses and dead rustlers behind.

He had jumped his horse over the Gerber Wash, a deep, wide ravine separating the fields of Glaze from the wild sage.

He had been surrounded north of Sterling; and he had broken through the line.

How often had been told the story of day stampedes, of night raids, of pursuit, and then how the Masked Rider, swift as the wind, was gone in the sage! A fleet, dark horse--a slender, dark form--a black mask--a driving run down the slope--a dot on the purple sage--a shadowy, muffled steed disappearing in the night! And this Masked Rider of the uplands had been Elizabeth Erne! The sweet sage wind rushed in Venters's face and sang a song in his ears.