From Rickett to Morgan Hills,
from Morgan Hills to St. Vincent, from St. Vincent to Wago and far beyond;
but this was the end of an historic run.
"D'ye see?" whispered Barry, leaning close to Satan's ears. "Lad, d'ye see
what you've got to do?"
The black stood with his head very high, quivering through his whole body
while he eyed the fence. It was murderously high, and all things were
against him, the long run, the rise of the ground going toward the fence,
and the gravel from which he must take off for the jump.
"You can do it," said the master. "You got to do it! Go for it, boy. We win
or lose together!"
He swayed forward, and Satan leaped ahead at full speed, gathering impetus,
scattering the gravel on either side. The farmer on the inside of the fence
raised his shotgun leisurely to his shoulder and took a careful aim. He
knew what it all meant. He had heard of the outlaw, Barry, with his
black horse and his wolf-dog--everyone in the desert had, for that matter--
and even had he been ignorant the shouting of the posse which now raced
down the canyon in full view would have told him all that he needed to
know.
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