Accordingly, with all this well in
mind, he brought Grey Molly to a full halt and gazed around, utterly
stunned by surprise, when, half way up the valley, a rifle spoke small but
sharp from one side, and a bullet clipped the rocks not the length of the
horse away. He understood. When he cut straightaway across the country he
had indeed left a baffling trail, a trail so dim, in fact, that Pete Glass
had wisely given it up and taken the long chance by cutting back to the
point at which the hunt began. So their paths crossed.
Barry spoke sharply to the mare and loosed the reins, but she started into
a full gallop too late. There came a brief hum, a thudding blow, and Grey
Molly pitched forward.
Chapter XI. A New Trail Begins
If he had been an ordinary rider, sitting heavily far back in the saddle,
at the end of a long ride, Barry would either have been flung clear and
smashed horribly against the rocks, or, more likely, he would have been
entangled in the stirrups and crushed to death instantly by the weight of
his horse; but he rode always lightly poised and when the mare pitched
forward his feet were already clear of the stirrups.
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