He was
leaning again, to this side and then to that, and presently the posse
rushed past the discarded riding-boots.
There lay the rifle in its case on the saddle far behind. And with the
rifle remained all the fugitive's chances of fighting at long range. Now,
following, came the heavy cartridge belt and the revolver with it. The very
sombrero was torn from his head and thrown away.
His horse was failing visibly; not even this lightening could keep it away
from the posse long; and yet the man threw away his sole chance of safety.
And the fifteen pursuers cursed solemnly as they saw the truth. He would
run his horse to death and then die with it empty handed rather than let
either of them fall a captive.
Unburdened by saddle or gun or trapping, the stallion gave himself in the
last effort. There ahead lay safety, if they could shake off this last
relay of the posse, and for a time he pulled away until Retherton grew
anxious, and once more the bullets went questing around the fugitive. But
it was a dying effort. They gained; they drew away; and then they were only
holding the posse even, and then once more, they fell back gradually toward
the pursuit.
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