Going up a slope the trot of the stallion maintained or even increased his
lead, but when they reached the easier ground beyond they drew rapidly upon
him. They saw Barry bend low; they saw the stallion increase its pace.
"By God," shouted Retherton in involuntary admonition, "I'd rather have
that hoss than the ten thousand. But feed 'em the spurs, boys, and he'll
come back to us inside a mile."
And Retherton was right. Before that mile was over the black slipped back
inch by inch, until at length Retherton called: "Now grab your guns boys
and see if you can salt him down with lead. Give your hosses their heads
and turn loose!"
They pulled their guns to their shoulders and sent a volley at the outlaw.
One bullet clipped a spark from the rocks just behind the stallion's feet;
the other two must have gone wide. Once more Barry flinched closer over the
neck of Satan and once again the horse answered with a fresh burst of
speed, but in a few moments he came back to them. Flesh could not stand
that pace after seventy-five miles of running.
They saw the rider straighten and look back; then the sun flashed on his
rifle.
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