Barry dropped further and further back towards the posse. The
danger fascinated him. Once he whistled high and shrill as a hawk's scream
from the top of a bluff while the posse labored through a ravine below. He
saw the guns flash out, and waited. He heard the sing of the bullets around
him, and the splashing lead on a solid-rock face just beneath him; he
listened till the deep echoes spoke from the gulch, then waved his hat and
disappeared.
This was almost defeating the purpose of his play for if he came that close
again they would probably make out that they were following a decoy.
Accordingly, since he had now drawn them well away from Vic's line of
escape, he turned his back reluctantly on the posse and struck across the
hills.
He kept on for the better part of an hour before he doubled and swung in a
wide circle towards his cabin. He had laid out a course which the wise
sheriff could follow until dark and be none the wiser; and if Pete Glass
were the finest trailer who ever studied sign and would never be able to
read the tokens of the return ride.
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