A long halloo came barking down the pass, now drawling out, now cut away to
silence as the angling cliffs sent on the echo, and Vic loosened the rein.
Grey Molly swung out with a snort of relief to a free-swinging gallop and
they swept down a great, gentle slope where new grass padded the fall of
her hoofs, yet even then he kept the mare checked and held her in touch
with an easily playing wrist. He did not imagine that even the sheriff on
the dusty roan would dream of trying to swallow up Grey Molly in a short
sprint but that assurance nearly cost Vic his life. The roar of hoofs in
the gulch belched out into the comparative silence of the open space beyond
and just as he gave the mare her head a gun coughed and an angry humming
darted past his ear.
Molly lengthened into full speed. He could not tell on account of the
muffling grass whether the pursuit was gaining or losing. He trusted
blindly to the mare and when he looked back they were already pulling their
mounts down to a hand gallop. That would teach them to match Molly in a
sprint, roan or no roan!
He slapped her below the withers, where the long, hard muscles rippled back
and forth.
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