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But they had gained more than he knew. Suddenly above him on the top of the steep bluff across the torrent a man loomed up against the clouds, peered intently and then waved his sombrero to an unseen companion. A puff of smoke flashed from his shoulder and streaked away, the report of the shot lost in the gale. The fugitive’s horse reared and plunged into the deep water and with its rider was swept rapidly towards the bend, the way they had come.

“That makes th’ fourth time I’ve missed that coyote!” angrily exclaimed Hopalong as Red Connors joined him.

The other quickly raised his rifle and fired; and the horse, spilling its rider out of the saddle, floated away tail first. The fugitive, gripping his rifle, bobbed and whirled at the whim of the greedy water as shots struck near him. Making a desperate effort, he staggered up the bank and fell exhausted behind a bowlder.

“Well, th’ coyote is afoot, anyhow,” said Red, with great satisfaction.

“Yes; but how are we going to get to him?” asked Hopalong. “We can’t get th’ cayuses down here, an’ we can’t swim that water without them. And if we could, he’d pot us easy.”

“There’s a way out of it somewhere,” Red replied, disappearing over the edge of the bluff to gamble with Fate.

“Hey! Come back here, you chump!” cried Hopalong, running forward. “He’ll get you, shore!”

“That’s a chance I’ve got to take if I get him,” was the reply.

A puff of smoke sailed from behind the bowlder on the other bank and Hopalong, kneeling for steadier aim, fired and then followed his friend. Red was downstream casting at a rock across the torrent but the wind toyed with the heavy, water-soaked reata as though it were a string. As Hopalong reached his side a piece of driftwood ducked under the water and an angry humming sound died away downstream. As the report reached their ears a jet of water spurted up into Red’s face and he stepped back involuntarily.

“He’s some shaky,” Hopalong remarked, looking back at the wreath of smoke above the bowlder. “I reckon I must have hit him harder than I thought in Harlan’s. Gee! he’s wild as blazes!” he ejaculated as a bullet hummed high above his head and struck sharply against the rock wall.

“Yes,” Red replied, coiling the rope. “I was trying to rope that rock over there. If I could anchor to that, th’ current would push us over quick. But it’s too far with this wind blowing.”

“We can’t do nothing here ‘cept get plugged. He’ll be getting steadier as he rests from his fight with th’ water,” Hopalong remarked, and added quickly, “Say, remember that meadow back there a ways? We can make her from there, all right.”

“Yo’re right; that’s what we’ve got to do. He’s sending ’em nearer every shot–Gee! I could ‘most feel th’ wind of that one. An’ blamed if it ain’t stopped raining. Come on.”

They clambered up the slippery, muddy bank to where they had left their horses, and cantered back over their trail. Minute after minute passed before the cautious skulker among the rocks across the stream could believe in his good fortune. When he at last decided that he was alone again he left his shelter and started away, with slowly weakening stride, over cleanly washed rock where he left no trail.

It was late in the afternoon before the two irate punchers appeared upon the scene, and their comments, as they hunted slowly over the hard ground, were numerous and bitter. Deciding that it was hopeless in that vicinity, they began casting in great circles on the chance of crossing the trail further back from the river. But they had little faith in their success. As Red remarked, snorting like a horse in his disgust, “I’ll bet four dollars an’ a match he’s swum down th’ river just to have th’ laugh on us.” Red had long since given it up as a bad job, though continuing to search, when a shout from the distant Hopalong sent him forward on a run.