"Boys, buck up! He's done! D'ye see the black laborin'. D'ye see it? Hey,
Lew, Garry, we've got the best hosses among us three. Now's the time for a
spurt, and by God, we'll run him down. I'm startin!"
He made his word good with an Indian yell and a wave of his hat that sent
his buckskin leaping straight into the air, to land with stiff legs,
"swallowing its head," but then it straightened out in earnest. That
buckskin had a name from Bly Falls to Caswell City speed and courage, and
it lived up to the record in the time of need. Close behind it came Lew and
Garry ponies scarcely slower than the buckskin, and they closed rapidly on
Satan. The plan of Retherton was plain: now that the black was running on
its nerve a spurt might bring them within striking distance and if they
could check the flight for an instant by opening advance guard fire, they
might drive the fugitive into a corner by the river and hold him there
until the main body the posse came up. The three of them running alone the
lead could do five yards for every four of the slow horses, and the effect
showed at once.
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