He watched every concealment as he approached and half swung in his saddle in passing, ready to fire.
A quick turn in the creek bed, where the rock walls hugged in close, and his mare planted her forefeet with a suddenness that nearly sent him over her head.

Directly in their path, struggling to rise from among the rocks, was a riderless horse.

Two hundred yards beyond a man on foot was running swiftly up the chasm, and a pistol shot beyond him two others on horseback had turned and were waiting.
"Lord, if I had Billinger's gun now!" groaned Philip.
At the sound of his voice and the pressure of his heels in her flank the mare vaulted over the animal in their path.

The clatter of pursuing hoofs stopped the runner for an instant, and in that same instant Philip halted and rose in his stirrups to fire.

As his finger pressed the trigger there came to his ears a thrilling sound from behind him--the sharp galloping beat of steel upon rock! Billinger was coming--Billinger, with his broken leg and his carbine! He could have shouted for joy as he fired.
Once--twice, and the outlaw was speeding ahead of him again, unhurt.