It cut down the work of the
stallion by half to have this swift, sure scout run before and point out
the path, yet it was stiff labor at the best and Barry was glad when he
came on the hard gravel of an old creek bed cutting at right angels to his
course.
From the first he had intended to run towards the Morgans only to cover the
true direction of his flight, and now, since the posse was hopelessly left
behind him, well out of hearing, he rode Satan into the middle of the creek
bed and swung him north.
It was bad going for a horse carrying a rider, and even the catlike
certainty of Satan's tread could not avoid sharp edges here and there that
might cut his hoofs. So Barry leaped to the ground and ran at full speed
down the bed. Behind him Satan followed, his ears pricked uneasily, and
Black Bart, at a signal from the master, dropped back and remained at the
first bend of the old, empty stream. In a moment they wound out of sight
even of Bart, but Barry kept steadily on. It would take a magnifying glass
to read his trail over those rocks.
He had covered a mile, perhaps, when Bart came scurrying again and leaped
joyously around the master.
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