He felt an insane impulse to lean over the edge
of the cliff and shout a greeting.
Chapter VI. The Rifle
Dawn found him over the first crest; at noon he was struggling up the slope
of the second range, whose rise was not half so sharp as the upward plunge
out of the Asper, but in spite of that easier ground Grey Molly could not
gain. She went with shorter steps, now, and her head hung lower and lower,
yet when a down stretch opened before her she went at it with a gallop as
light, almost, as her race out of Murphy's Pass. Not once had she offered
to stop; not once had she winced from the labor of some sharp up-pitch; but
still six horsemen hung behind her, and at their head rode a little dusty
man on a little dusty roan. It was the lack of training as well as the
rough going which held Molly back.
Beyond that second range, however, the down slope stretched smoothly,
evenly, for mile on mile and mile on mile; perfect going for Grey Molly
over easy hills with patches of forest here and there where he might
double, or where he might stop with the hunt sweeping past.
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