It was only as her horse clambered up the bank on the other side that she looked back.

The men were about a mile away from her, galloping hard. One figure was nearer, halfway between her and them and coming on towards her with speed that she dared not underestimate.

His horse was the better of the two and her only chance was to take advantage of the start she had and to keep it.

Grassland stretched away ahead, mile upon mile of it, the mountains, their sides thick with shrubs, were on her left. There was nothing she could do but go straight on.

Then she realised that he was gaining on her and now she could hear his horse’s hoofs and then the jingle of his silver harness.

She was gasping for breath and she used her whip mercilessly in her desperation to get away. It was like a nightmare to realise that El Diablo was growing nearer and nearer.

She thought of turning her horse up the mountainside, but she knew that even a little check would give him the chance to catch up.

Then she determined that if he did, she must run for it. She was lighter than he and perhaps if she took to the mountains she might find a place to hide somewhere amongst the rocks where he might not be able to find her until the darkness came.

Wildly the thoughts went through Skye’s mind and with them a terror of being pursued, of being hunted, such as an animal might feel.

He was growing nearer and nearer, the thunder of his horse’s hoofs was as loud now as the beat of her heart.

In a moment he would catch hold of her horse’s bridle and then she must fling herself to the ground and run – run as she had never run before.

The pounding of the horses’ hoofs thundered in her ears, she was almost blinded by the speed, her breath coming in choking sobs from between her parted lips.

He was drawing nearer and nearer, his horse was level with hers and then she felt his arm encircle her and she screamed a cry of sheer and abject terror.

He swung her out of the saddle with a skill that requires almost superhuman strength and then he lifted her in full gallop from her own horse onto his.

As she felt herself travel through the air and land roughly in front of him on his saddle,

Skye, for a moment, lost consciousness. It was only a second of merciful oblivion and she came back to reality to know that her chest felt as if someone had hit her with a sledgehammer.

Her face was buried against El Diablo’s coat. She knew then that the arms that held her tightly to him were a prison bar that she was unable to break or evade.