Sometimes he ran back with lolling, red tongue, when the course lay clear
even to the duller sense of a human, and frisked under the nose of Satan
until a word from Barry sent him scurrying away like a pleased child. His
duties comprehended not only the selection of the course but also an eagle
vigilance before and behind, so that when he came again with a peculiar
whine, Barry leaned a little from the saddle and spoke to him anxiously.
"D'you mean to say that they been gainin' ground on us old boy?"
Black Bart leaped sidewise, keeping his head toward the master, and he
howled in troubled fashion.
"Whereaway are they now?" muttered Barry, and looked back again.
A great distance behind, hardly distinguishable now, the dust of the posse
was blending into the landscape and losing itself against a gray
background.
"If they's nothin' wrong behind, what's bitin' you, Bart. You gettin'
hungry, maybe? Want to hurry home?"
Another howl, still louder, answered him.
"Go on, then, and show me where they's trouble."
Black Bart whirled and darted off almost straight ahead, but bearing up a
hill slightly south of their course.
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