Barry knew that
he would be followed hard and fast, and he headed straight for the Morgan's
to throw the posse off the final direction he intended to take in his
flight. In spite of the matchless speed of that black stallion of which the
sheriff had learned so much, he would probably let the posse keep within
easy view of him until he was deep within the bad-lands. Then he would
double, sharply around and strike out in the true direction of his flight.
Having reached this point in his deductions, Billy smote his hands
together. He was trembling with excitement so that he filled his pipe with
difficulty. By the time it was drawing well he was back examining his
mental picture of the country.
West of Rickett about the same distance as Morgan Hills, ran the Wago
Mountains, low, rolling ranges which would hardly form an impediment for a
horseman. Across these Barry might cut at a good speed on his western
course, but some fifteen or twenty miles from Rickett he was bound to reach
a most difficult barrier. It was the Asper river, at this season of the
year swollen high and swift with snow-water--a rare feat indeed if a man
could swim his horse across such a stream.
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