"While we try to head him off you'll follow behind him, Hilton." One trooper sent the spurs in, and, while the others swung off, rode straight on.

Courthorne was at least a mile from them, but they were nearer the bridge, and Payne surmised that his jaded horse would fail him if he essayed to ford the creek and climb the farther side of the deep ravine it flowed through.

They saw nothing of him when they swept across the rise, for here and there a grove of willows stretched out across the prairie from the sinuous band of trees in front of them.
These marked the river hollow, and Payne, knowing that the chase might be ended in a few more minutes, did not spare the spur.

He also remembered, as he tightened his grip on the bridle, the white face of Trooper Shannon flecked with the drifting snow.
The bluff that rose steadily higher came back to them, willow and straggling birch flashed by, and at last Payne drew bridle where a rutted trail wound down between the trees to the bridge in the hollow.
A swift glance showed him that a mounted man could scarcely make his way between them, and he smiled dryly as he signed to his companion.
"Back your horse clear of the trail," he said, and there was a rattle as he flung his carbine across the saddle.

"With Hilton behind him, he'll ride straight into our hands." He wheeled his horse in among the birches, and then sat still, with fingers that quivered a little on the carbine-stock, until a faint drumming rose from the prairie.
"He's coming!" said the trooper.