That would give him a
sufficient start, and he would make the fords near Caswell City comfortably
ahead. At Caswell City, indeed, they might get a still other relay, but
just beyond the Asper River rose the Grizzly Peaks--his own country, and
once among them he could laugh the posse to scorn.
He patted Satan on the shoulder and swept on at redoubled speed, skirting
close to the town, while the posse plunged straight into it.
Listening closely, he could hear their shouts as they entered the village,
could mark the cessation of their hoof-beats.
Ten minutes, five minutes at least for the change of horses, and that time
would put him safety among the hills.
But the impossible happened. There was no pause of minutes, hardly a pause
of seconds, when the rush of hoofbeats began again and poured out from the
town, fifteen desperate riders on fifteen fresh mounts. By some miracle
Wago had been warned and the needed horses had been kept there saddled and
ready for the relay.
It turned an easy escape into a close chance, but still his faith in Satan
was boundless to reach the fords in time, and the safety of the mountains
beyond.
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