The knowledge that she was watched began to irritate her and this morning she had got up with a determination to ride without company. With that end in view she had kept Billy all night in the patio; and when rather late in the morning she saw Linton riding eastward, she hurriedly threw saddle and bridle on the horse and rode westward, toward the big basin.

She kept the house between her and the point where she had seen Linton--until a turn northward became inevitable; and then she urged Billy to a faster pace, in an endeavor to cross the wide plain that reached to the entrance to the basin before Linton could see her.

Many times during the days before the coming of Deveny and Haydon to the valley she had ridden there; it had been a place in which reigned a mighty silence which she had loved, which had thrilled her. During those other days she was in the habit of riding to a point several miles up the valley--between the little basin where the Star was now and the Rancho Seco.

The trail led upward in a slow, gradual slope to that point--a rugged promontory that jutted out from a mesa that rose above the floor of the valley. The mesa was fringed at the southern edge with stunt oak and nondescript brush. But there were breaks in the fringe which permitted her to ride close to the edge of the mesa; and from there she could look many miles up the valley--and across it, where the solemn hills rimmed the southern horizon, to a trail--called the South Trail by cattlemen in the valley, to distinguish it from the main trail leading through the mighty hollow in which she rode.

When she reached the mesa she headed Billy directly for the break on the promontory. Dismounting, she stretched her legs to disperse the saddle weariness; then she found a huge rock which had been the seat from which she had viewed the wondrous landscape in the past.

The reverent awe with which she had always viewed the valley was as strong in her today as it had ever been--stronger, in fact, because she had not seen the place for some time, and because in her heart there now dwelt a sadness that had not been there in those other days--at least since her mother had died.

She was high above the floor of the valley; and she could see the main trail below her weaving around low mounds and sinking into depressions; disappearing into timber groves, reappearing farther on, disappearing again, and again reappearing until it grew blurred and indistinct in her vision.

In the marvelous clarity of the atmosphere this morning every beauteous feature of the valley was disclosed to her inspection. The early morning haze had lifted, and the few fleecy clouds that floated in the blue bowl of sky were motionless, their majestic billows glowing in the sun. She saw a Mexican eagle swoop over the cloud, sailing on slow wing high above it, and growing so distant in her vision that he became a mere speck moving in the limitless expanse of s.p.a.ce.

It was a colossal landscape, and its creator had neglected no detail. And it was harmonious, from the emerald green that carpeted the floor of the valley near the gleaming river to the gigantic shoulders of the rugged hills that lifted their huge, bastioned walls into the blue of the sky.

Some tall rock spires that thrust their peaks skyward far over on the southern side of the valley had always interested her; they seemed to be sentinels that guarded the place, hinting of an ages-old mystery that seemed to reign all about them.

But there was mystery in everything in the valley, she felt; for it lay before her, spreading, slumbrous, basking in the brilliant sunlight--seeming to wait, as it seemed to have waited from the dawn of the first day, for man to wonder over it.

She saw the Mexican eagle again after a while. It was making a wide circle beyond the rock spires, floating lazily above them in long, graceful swoops that were so lacking in effort that she longed to be up there with him--to ride the air with him, to feel the exhilaration he must feel.

As she looked, however, she caught a faint blur on the southern horizon of the big picture--a yellowish-black cloud that hugged the horizon and traveled rapidly eastward. It was some time before she realized that what she saw was a dust cloud, and there were men in it--hors.e.m.e.n.

She got up from the rock, her face slowly whitening. And into her heart came a presentiment that those men in the dust cloud were abroad upon an errand of evil.

No doubt the presentiment was caused from the dread and fear she had lived under for days--the consciousness that Deveny was in the valley, and a recollection of the warnings that Harlan had given her. And she knew the hors.e.m.e.n could not be Rancho Seco men--for they had gone southward from the ranch, and there was no gra.s.s range where the hors.e.m.e.n were riding. Also, the men were riding eastward, toward the Rancho Seco.

Trembling a little with apprehension, she mounted Billy and sent him down the slope to the floor of the valley. The descent was hazardous, and Billy did not make good time, but when he reached the level at the foot of the slope he stretched his neck and fell into a steady, rapid pace that took him down the valley swiftly.

As the girl rode, the presentiment of evil increased, and she grew nervous with a conviction that she would not be able to reach the Rancho Seco much in advance of the men. For she could see them more clearly now, because they were in the valley, traveling a shelving trail that sloped down from the hills toward the level that stretched to the ranchhouse.

It was several miles from where she rode to the point where the hors.e.m.e.n were riding, and she was traversing a long ridge which must have revealed her to the men if they looked toward her.

She had thought--after she had left the promontory--of concealing herself somewhere in the valley, to wait until she discovered who the men were and what their errand was; but she had a fear that if the men were Deveny's outlaws they might return up the valley and accidentally come upon her. Also, she had yielded to the homing instinct which is strong in all living beings, for at home was safety that could not be found elsewhere.

The South Trail, she knew, converged with the valley trail at the edge of the level. If she could reach that point a few minutes before the hors.e.m.e.n reached it she would rely on Billy to maintain his lead. Billy would have to maintain it!

Leaning far over Billy's mane she urged him on, coaxing him, flattering him, calling to him in terms of endearment. And the loyal little animal did his best, running as he had never run before.

Barbara though, watching the hors.e.m.e.n with eyes into which there had come a glow of doubt, began to realize that Billy was losing the race. Also, by the time she had gone four or five miles, she discovered that the men had seen her. For the trails were growing close together now--not more than half a mile of slightly broken country stretched between them, and she could see the men waving their hats; could hear their voices above the whir and clatter of Billy's pa.s.sing.

Still, she was determined to win, and Billy's flanks felt the sting of the quirt that, hitherto, had swung from Barbara's wrist.

Billy revealed a marvelous burst of speed. But it did not last, and the hors.e.m.e.n, after hanging for an instant abreast of Billy, began to forge ahead.

The courageous little animal had almost reached the covert that Harlan had discovered the day he had visited the Star the first time, and was n.o.bly answering the stern urge of the quirt when another horseman suddenly appeared on the trail directly ahead of the girl, seemingly having ridden out of the covert.

The trail was narrow, and Billy could not swerve around the new rider.

So, sensing the danger of a collision he stiffened his legs, making a sliding halt that carried him a dozen feet, leaving him upon his haunches with Barbara frantically trying to keep to the saddle.

Then Billy's forehoofs came down; he grunted, heaved a tremendous sigh and stood, his legs braced, awaiting orders.

No order came. For no words escaped Barbara's lips. She sat in the saddle, her face ashen, terror clutching her.

For the horseman who had ridden out of the covert was Stroud, the Rancho Seco straw-boss. He was grinning, and in his eyes was a gloating triumph that she could not mistake.

"Lucky I took a notion to come in this mornin'," he said. "I just got here. I seen you hittin' the breeze for fair while you was quite a piece up the basin; an' I seen Deveny an' the boys a-fannin' it, too. An' I says to myself: 'Stroud, here's Deveny racin' to see Miss Barbara, an'

her actin' like she don't want to see him. But I'll fix it so she does.'"

The girl touched Billy with the quirt, and the little animal lunged forward, close to Stroud's horse. As the two beasts came close together Barbara struck at Stroud with the quirt, hoping to disconcert him so that she could send Billy past him.

Stroud ducked and shot a hand out, seized the quirt and wrenched it from her hand. She screamed as the hairloop sc.r.a.ped the flesh of her wrist.

And then she heard a thundering clatter of hoofs and saw Deveny and his men appear from beyond the covert and race toward her.

Deveny spoke no word. But as he rode toward her she saw the gleam in his eyes, and she silently fought Stroud, who had grasped her and was pulling her toward him.

It seemed to her that Deveny must have misunderstood Stroud's action, for it was clear to her--even in the stress and confusion of the moment--that Deveny thought Stroud had attacked her through motives that were strictly personal.

Anyway, before Stroud could speak Deveny's pistol glittered. And malignantly, his eyes blazing with a jealous, evil light, he shot Stroud--twice.

He sat in the saddle, his lips twitching into a sneer as he watched the straw-boss tumble from his horse and fall limply into the gra.s.s. Then with a smile that was hideous with a triumphant pa.s.sion, he spurred his horse to Billy's side, pulled the girl from the saddle, and sent his horse up the valley, motioning his men to follow.

CHAPTER XXV

AMBUSHED

Red Linton had ridden eastward to examine the gra.s.s of the range in that direction, for it had been some days since he had sent Stroud to the southern range, and since the cattle had been there for some time before that Linton felt they should be driven to fresh gra.s.s.

And yet, perhaps, Linton's search for good gra.s.s should not have taken him so far from the ranchhouse, for he remembered his promise to Harlan that he would not let Barbara out of his sight. But Barbara had made no objection to his guardianship of her, so far, and he had longed for a ride.

He worried a little, though, and felt guilty of something very like treason to Harlan; and at last, not being able to ride farther with the thoughts that fought with his desires, he wheeled his horse and sent it scampering back toward the ranchhouse.

When he reached the ranchhouse he saw none of the men, for he had set them at tasks inside the buildings; and he rode down to the ranchhouse, resolved to have a talk with the girl.

When he rode around the near corner he saw that the _patio_ gate was open. His horse leaped with the stern word he spoke to it, bringing him swiftly to the gate, where he dismounted and threw open a door that led into the house.

He called to Barbara, and receiving no answer, he ran from room to room, not hesitating until he had explored them all.

Emerging from the house, he mounted his horse and sent him westward, while he scanned the big level around him for sight of the girl.

She had always ridden into the valley in former days, he remembered--and during the days of his guardianship she had more than once threatened to ride there. And he had no doubt she had gone there now, out of perverseness, just to irritate him.

He held his horse to a rapid pace as he crossed the level, and he was still a mile distant from the covert where Barbara had met Stroud when he saw a group of hors.e.m.e.n traveling rapidly up the valley.