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Brand, Max, 1892-1944

"The Seventh Man"

D'ye hear?"
But there was only an inarticulate whoop from the other end of the
wire.
Billy hung up. A little later he was talking to Wago.

Chapter XXX. The Morgan Hills
Once out of Rickett, Barry pulled the stallion back to an easy canter. He
had camped during the latter part of the night near the town and ridden in
in the morning, so that Satan was full of running. He rebelled now against
this easy pace, and tossed his head with impatience. No curb restrained
him, not even a bit; the light hackamore could not have held him for an
instant, but the voice of the rider kept him in hand. Now, out of Rickett's
one street, came the thing for which Barry had waited, and delayed his
course--a scudding dust cloud. On the top of a rise of ground he brought
Satan to a halt and looked back, though Black Bart ran in a circle around
him, and whined anxiously. Bart knew that they should be running; there was
no good in that ragged dust-cloud. Finally he sat down on his haunches and
looked his master in the face, quivering with eagerness. The posse came
closer, at the rate of a racing horse, and near at hand the tufts of dust
which tossed up above and behind the riders dissolved, and Whistling Dan
made them out clearly, and more clearly.


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