There was only one break ahead of him, and toward this he urged his horse.

In the entrance to the break there was another sandy but waterless dip, and across this trailed the hoof-prints of the outlaws' mounts, two at a walk--one at a gallop.
At one time, ages before, the break had been the outlet of a stream pouring itself out between jagged and cavernous walls of rock from the black heart of the upheaved country within.

Now the bed of it was strewn with broken trap and masses of boulders, cracked and dried by centuries of blistering sun.
Philip's heart beat a little faster as he urged his horse ahead, and not for an instant did his cocked revolver drop from its guard over the mare's ears.

He knew, if he overtook the outlaws in retreat, that there would be a fight, and that it would be three against one.

That was what he hoped for.