Again and again Vic heard the little shrill whistle with which Pete Glass encouraged the roan.

Vic used the spurs twice, and then he desisted from the useless brutality for Molly was doing her best and no power on earth could make her do more.

After all, her best would be good enough, for now Vic looked up and his heart leaped into his throat; there was only one more rise above him, and beyond lay the easy ground and a running chance for Molly's slender legs.

Even as he raised his head something whined evilly over him, followed by a sound like two heavy hammers swung together, face to face, and shattered by the stroke.

A rifle! He looked back, saw the roan standing broadside towards him, watched the sun waver and then flash in a straight steady line along the barrel of the sheriff's gun.