about an eighth of a mile up the canyon where it narrowed down between the walls.
A small colt perhaps two months old was in the foreground. He was running like a jackrabbit and his mother, who was none other than Kentucky Bell, was following close behind him trying desperately to ward off the fiendish effort of a coal black stallion who was springing and biting at the colt with deadly intent. The mare was putting up a desperate running fight, but the colt seemed doomed although he ran like an antelope and doubled and twisted as the old fury came close to him.
Now the ill fame of the killer had travelled all over that portion of the state. There was not a cow-puncher in the region that had not much rather meet a grizzly bear than the killer, but his duty was plain so Hank reined Baldy sharply about and galloped rapidly towards that desperate running fight. He knew full well that he ran some risk in so doing, but a cowboy's life is full of adventure and he was enured to danger of every sort.
Again and again the little horse seemed lost, for the black stallion would swoop down upon him, his teeth snapping like a bear trap, but just in time the colt would jump aside or the mare would intervene, receiving ugly bites herself.
So intent was the killer with the object in view that
