All this the
sheriff must have known perfectly well, for he no longer kept back with his
pack of five, but skirted on ahead, hunting alone. Again and again Vic
heard the little shrill whistle with which Pete Glass encouraged the roan.
Vic used the spurs twice, and then he desisted from the useless brutality
for Molly was doing her best and no power on earth could make her do more.
After all, her best would be good enough, for now Vic looked up and his
heart leaped into his throat; there was only one more rise above him, and
beyond lay the easy ground and a running chance for Molly's slender legs.
Even as he raised his head something whined evilly over him, followed by a
sound like two heavy hammers swung together, face to face, and shattered by
the stroke. A rifle!
He looked back, saw the roan standing broadside towards him, watched the
sun waver and then flash in a straight steady line along the barrel of the
sheriff's gun. The line of light jerked up, and before the sound reached
him a blow on his right shoulder sent Vic lurching forward against the
pommel.
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