Lassiter led the swift flight across the wide space, over washes, through sage, into a narrow canyon where the rapid clatter of hoofs rapped sharply from the walls.

The wind roared in her ears; the gleaming cliffs swept by; trail and sage and grass moved under her.

Lassiter's bandaged, blood-stained face turned to her; he shouted encouragement; he looked back down the Pass; he spurred his horse.

Jane clung on, spurring likewise.

And the horses settled from hard, furious gallop into a long-striding, driving run.