AMBER SPRING
out on the gradual slope, caught sight of a moving cloud of dust.
"Hello, a rider!"
"Yes, I see," said Jane.
"That fellow's riding hard. Jane, there's something wrong."
"Oh, yes, there must be. . . . How he rides!"
The horse disappeared in the sage, and then puffs of dust marked his course.
"He's short-cut on us—he's making straight for the corrals."
Venters and Jane galloped their steeds and reined in at the turning of the lane. This lane led down to the right of the grove. Suddenly into its lower entrance flashed a bay horse. Then Venters caught the fast rhythmic beat of pounding hoofs. Soon his keen eye recognized the swing of the rider in his saddle.
"It's Judkins, your Gentile rider!" he cried. "Jane, when Judkins rides like that it means hell!"
