Then they started down the slope for the horses, running wildly, for the
moment they turned their backs on the cave the same thought was in the mind
of each, the same haunting fear of that small, shrill whistle pursuing.
Half running, half sliding, they went down to the bottom of the gorge.
While the pebble they started rushed after them in small avalanches, and
they even had to dodge rocks of considerable size which came bounding
after, Joan, alert upon the shoulder of Lee Haines, enjoyed every moment of
it; her hair tossed in the sun, her arms were outstretched for balance. So
they reached the horses, and climbed into the saddles. Then, without a word
from one to the other, but with many a backward look, they started on the
flight.
By the time they reached the shoulder of the hill on the farther side, with
a long stretch of down slope before, they had placed a large handicap
between them and the danger of pursuit, but still they were not at ease. On
their trail, sooner or later, would come three powers working towards one
end, the surety of Black Bart following a scent, the swiftness of Satan
which never tired, and above all the rider who directed them both and kept
them to their work.
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