the seventh man-第35部分

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light　labor；　now；　and　something　of　the　same　heave　and　pitch　which　comes　in　the　gait　of　a　common　horse；　also；　when　he　put　Satan　up　the　first　slope　beyond　Ganton　he　noted　a　faltering；　a　deeper　lowering　of　the　head。　When　his　hoofs　struck　a　loose　rock　he　no　longer　had　the　easy　recoil　of　the　morning。　He　staggered　like　a　graceful　yacht　chopped　by　a　cross…current。　Now　down　the　slope；　now　back　to　the　roar　of　the　Asper　once　more；　for　there　the　going　was　most　level；　but　always　the　strides　were　shortening；　shortening；　and　the　head　of　the　stallion　nodded　at　his　work。

All　that　was　seen　by　Mark　Retherton　through　his　glasses；　though　they　were　almost　close　enough　now　to　see　details　through　the　naked　eye。　He　turned　in　the　saddle　to　the　posse；　grim　faces；　sweat　and　dust　clotted　in　their　moustaches；　their　faces　drawn　and　gray　with　streaks　over　the　nose　and　under　the　eyes　where　perspiration　ran。　They　rode　crookedly；　now；　for　seventy　miles　at　full　speed　had　racked　them；　twisted　them；　cramped　their　muscles。　Scotty　kept　his　head　tilted　far　back；　for　his　spinal　column　seemed　about　to　snap。　Walsh　leaned　to　his　right　side　which　a　tormenting　pain　drew　at　every　stride；　and　Hendricks　cursed　in　gasps　through　a　wry　mouth。　It　had　been　an　hour　since　Mark　Retherton　last　spoke；　and　when　he　attempted　it　now　his　voice　was　as　hoarse　as　a　croaking　frog。

〃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。

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　o　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　bosses　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。

〃Feed　'em　the　spur！〃　shouted　Retherton。　〃If　we　can't　hit　him　shooting　ahead；　he　ain't　got　a　chance　to　hit　us　shootin'　backwards。〃　For　it　is　notoriously　hard　to　turn　in　the　saddle　and　accomplish　anything　with　a　rifle。　One　is　moving　away　from　the　target　instead　of　toward　it；　and　every　condition　of　ordinary　shooting　is　reversed；　above　all；　the　moment　a　man　turns　his　head　he　is　completely　out　of　touch　with　his　horse。　Apparently　the　fugitive　knew　this　and　made　no　attempt　to　place　his　shots。　He　merely　jerked　his　gun　to　the　shoulder　and　blazed　away　as　soon　as　it　was　in　place；　half　a　dozen　yards　in　front　of　Retherton　the　bullet　kicked　up　the　dust。

〃I　told　you；〃　he　shouted。　〃He　can't　do　nothin'　that　way。　Close　in；　boys。　Close　in　for　God's　sake！〃

He　himself　was　flailing　with　his　quirt；　and　the　buckskin　grunted　at　every　strike。　Once　more　the　rifle　pitched　to　the　outlaw's　shoulder；　and　this　time　the　bullet　clicked　on　a　rock　not　ten　feet　from　Retherton；　and　again　on　a　straight　line　for　him。

〃Damned　if　that　ain't　shootin'！〃　called　Garry；　and　Retherton；　alarmed；　swung　the　buckskin　out　to　one　side　to　throw　the　marksman　out　of　line。　He　had　turned　again　in　the　saddle；　and　as　though　the　episode　were　at　an　end；　restored　his　rifle　to　its　case；　but　when　they　poured　in　another　volley　about　him；　he　swung　sharply　roundabout　again；　gun　in　hand。　Once　more　the　rifle　went　to　his　shoulder；　and　this　time　the　bullet　knocked　a　puff　of　dust　into　the　very　nostrils　of　the　buckskin。　Retherton　reined　in　with　an　oath。

〃He's　been　warn　in'　me；　boys；〃　he　called。　〃That　devil　has　the　range　like　he　was　sitting　in　a　rockin'　chair　shooting　at　a　tin…can。　He's　warnin'　us　back　to　the　rest　of　the　gang。　And　damned　if　we　ain't　goin'！〃

It　was　quite　patent　that　he　was　right；　for　three　bullets　sent　on　a　line　for　one　horse；　and　each　of　them　closer；　could　mean　only　one　thing。　They　checked

their　horses；　and　in　a　moment　the　rest　of　the　posse　was　clattering　around　them。

〃It　don't　make　no　difference；〃　called　Retherton；　〃savin'　in　time。　Maybe　he'll　last　to　Wilsonville；　but　he　can't　stay　in　three　miles　when　we　hang　onto　him　with　fresh　hosses。　The　black　is　runnin'　on　nothin'　but　guts　right　now。〃



Chapter　XXXV。　The　Asper

Ninety　miles　of　ground；　at　least；　had　been　covered　by　the　black　stallion；　since　he　left　Rickett　that　morning；　yet　when　he　galloped　across　the　plain　in　full　sight　of　Wilsonville　there　were　plenty　of　witnesses　who　vowed　that　Satan　ran　like　a　colt　frolicking　over　a　pasture。　Mark　Retherton　knew　better；　and　the　posse　to　a　man　felt　the　end　was　near。　They　changed　saddles　in　a　savage　silence　and　went　down　the　street　out　of　town　with　a　roar　of　racing　hoofs。

And　Barry　too；　as　he　watched　them　whip　around　the　corner　of　the　last　house　and　streak　across　the　fields；　knew　that　the　end　of　the　ride　was　near。　Strength；　wind　and　nerve　were　gone　from　Satan；　his　hoofs　pounded　the　ground　with　the　stamp　of　a　plowhorse；　his　breath　came　in　wheezes　with　a　rattle　toward　the　end；　the　tail　no　longer　fluttered　out　straight　behind。　Yet　when　the　master　leaned　and　called　he　found　something　in　his　great　heart　with　which　to　answer。　A　ghost　of　his　old　buoyancy　came　in　his　stride；　the　drooping　head　rose；　one　ear　quivered　up；　and　he　ran　against　the　challenge　of　those　fresh　ponies　from　Wilsonville。　There　were　men　who　doubted　it　when　the　tale　was　told；　but　Mark　Retherton　swore　to　the　truth　of　it。

Even　then　that　desperate　effort　was　failing。　Not　all　the　generous　will　in　the　heart　of　the　stallion　could　give　his　legs　the　speed　they　needed；　and　he　fell　back　by　inches；　by　feet；　by　yards；　toward　the　posse。　They　disdained　their　guns　now；　and　kept　them　in　the　cases；　for　the　game　was　theirs。

And　then　they　noted　an　odd　activity　in　the　fugitive；　who　had　slipped　to　one　side　and　was　fumbling　at　his　cinches。　They　could　not　understand　for　a　time；　but　presently　the　saddle　came　loose；　the　cinches　flipped　out；　and　the　whole　apparatus　crashed　to　the　ground。　Nor　was　this　all。　The　rider　leaned　forward　and　his　hands　worked　on　the　head　of　his　mount　until　the　hackamore　also　came　free　and　was　tossed　aside。　To　that　thing　fifteen　good　men　and　true　swore　the　next　day　with　strange　oaths；　and　told　how　a　man　rode　for　his　life　on　a　horse　that　wore　neither　saddle　nor　bridle　but　ran　obediently　to　voice　and　hand。

Every　ounce　counted；　and　there　were　other　ounces　to　be　spared。　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。　It　was　the　end；　and　Barry　sat　bolt　erect　and　looked　around　him；　that　would　be　the　last　of　him　and　the　last　scene　he　should　see。

There　came　the　posse；　distant　but　running　closer。　With　every　stride　Satan　staggered；　with　every　stride　his　head　drooped；　and　all　the　lilt　of　his　running　was　gone。　Ten　minutes；　five　minutes　more　and　the　fifteen　would　be　around　him。　He　looked　to　the　river　which　thundered　there　at　his　side。

It　was　the　very　swiftest　portion　of　all　the　Asper　between　Tucker　Creek　and　Caswell　City。　Even　at　that　moment；　a　few　hundred　yards　away；　a　tall　tree　which　had　been　undermined；　fell　into　the　stream　and　dashed　the　spray　high；　yet　even　that　fall　was　silent　in　the　general　roar　of　the　river。　Checked　by　the　body　and　the　branches　of　the　tree　for　an　instant　before　it　should　be　torn　away　from　the　bank　and　shot　down　stream；　the　waters　boiled　and　left　a　comparatively　smooth；　swift　sliding　current　beyond　the　obstruction；　and　it　gave　to　Barry　a　chance　or　a　ghost　of　a　chance：

The　central　portion　of　the　river　bed　was　chopped　with　sharp　rocks　which　tore　the　stream　into　white　rages　of　foam；　but　beyond　these　rocks；　a　little　past　the　middle；　the　tree　like　a　dam　smoothed　out　the　curr