The voices came closer; the crashing burst on his very
ears, and now, through the interstices of the shrubbery he saw the stranger
swing into the saddle on Grey Molly and urge her to a gallop. He could
follow them for only an instant with his eyes, but it seemed to Vic that
Molly cantered under her new rider with strange ease and lightness. It was
partly the rest, no doubt, and partly the smaller burden.
A deep beat of racing hoofs, and then the dusty roan shot out of the trees
close by with the sheriff leaning forward, jockeying his horse. It seemed
that no living thing could escape from that relentless rider. Then right
behind Vic a horse snorted and grunted--as it leaped a fallen log,
perhaps--and he watched in alarm to see if the stallion would answer that
sound with start or whinney. The black lay perfectly still, and instead of
lifting up to answer or to look, the head lowered with ears flat back until
the long, outstretched neck gave the animal a snaky appearance. The dog,
too, though it showed murderous fangs whenever Vic moved, did not stir from
his place, but lay flattening into the ground.
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