Grey Molly gained steadily, yet even when he gathered the reins
in his left hand Vic knew that the fight was done, in effect. How could he
double or dodge when his own blood spotted the trail he kept, and how long
could he keep the saddle with the agony which tore like saw teeth at his
shoulder?
Grey Molly plunged straight into the shadow of pine trees, and the cool
gloom fell like a blessing upon Vic in his torment; it was heaven to be
sheltered even for a few moments from the eyes of the posse. At the
opposite edge of the wood he drew rein with a groan. Some devil had
prompted Gus Reeve and some devil had poured Reeve's horse full of
strength, for yonder down the valley, not a hundred yards away, galloped a
rider on a black horse; yet Vic could have sworn that when he looked back
from the crest he had seen Gus riding the very last in the posse. An
instant later the illusion vanished, for the black horse of Gus was never
an animal such as this, never had this marvelous, long gait. Its feet
flicked the earth and shot it along with a reaching stride so easy, so
flowing that only the fluttered mane and the tail stretching straight
behind gave token of the speed.
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