the seventh man-第6部分

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The　day　was　paling　towards　the　end　when　he　headed　into　the　foothills　of　the　White　Mountains。　He　drew　up　Molly　for　a　breath　on　a　level　shoulder。　Already　he　was　close　to　the　snow　line　with　ragged　heads　of　white　rearing　above　him。　Far　below；　a　pale　streak　of　moonlight　was　the　Asper。　Then；　out　of　that　blacker　night　on　the　slopes　beneath；　he　heard　the　clinking　hoofs　of　the　posse；　the　quiet　was　so　perfect；　the　air　so　clear；　that　he　even　caught　the　chorus　of　straining　saddle　leather　and　then　voices　of　men。　All　this　time　the　effects　of　the　whisky　had　been　wearing　away　by　imperceptible　degrees　and　at　that　sound　all　his　old　self　rushed　back　on　Vic　Gregg。　Why；　they　were　his　friends；　his　partners；　these　voices　in　the　night；　and　that　clear　laughter　floated　up　from　Harry　Fisher　who　had　been　his　bunkie　at　the　Circle　V　Bar　ranch　three　years　ago。　He　felt　an　insane　impulse　to　lean　over　the　edge　of　the　cliff　and　shout　a　greeting。



Chapter　VI。　The　Rifle

Dawn　found　him　over　the　first　crest；　at　noon　he　was　struggling　up　the　slope　of　the　second　range；　whose　rise　was　not　half　so　sharp　as　the　upward　plunge　out　of　the　Asper；　but　in　spite　of　that　easier　ground　Grey　Molly　could　not　gain。　She　went　with　shorter　steps；　now；　and　her　head　hung　lower　and　lower；　yet　when　a　down　stretch　opened　before　her　she　went　at　it　with　a　gallop　as　light；　almost；　as　her　race　out　of　Murphy's　Pass。　Not　once　had　she　offered　to　stop；　not　once　had　she　winced　from　the　labor　of　some　sharp　up…pitch；　but　still　six　horsemen　hung　behind　her；　and　at　their　head　rode　a　little　dusty　man　on　a　little　dusty　roan。　It　was　the　lack　of　training　as　well　as　the　rough　going　which　held　Molly　back。

Beyond　that　second　range；　however；　the　down　slope　stretched　smoothly；　evenly；　for　mile　on　mile　and　mile　on　mile；　perfect　going　for　Grey　Molly　over　easy　hills　with　patches　of　forest　here　and　there　where　he　might　double；　or　where　he　might　stop　with　the　hunt　sweeping　past。　All　this　the　sheriff　must　have　known　perfectly　well；　for　he　no　longer　kept　back　with　his　pack　of　five；　but　skirted　on　ahead；　hunting　alone。　Again　and　again　Vic　heard　the　little　shrill　whistle　with　which　Pete　Glass　encouraged　the　roan。　Vic　used　the　spurs　twice；　and　then　he　desisted　from　the　useless　brutality　for　Molly　was　doing　her　best　and　no　power　on　earth　could　make　her　do　more。　After　all；　her　best　would　be　good　enough；　for　now　Vic　looked　up　and　his　heart　leaped　into　his　throat；　there　was　only　one　more　rise　above　him；　and　beyond　lay　the　easy　ground　and　a　running　chance　for　Molly's　slender　legs。　Even　as　he　raised　his　head　something　whined　evilly　over　him；　followed　by　a　sound　like　two　heavy　hammers　swung　together；　face　to　face；　and　shattered　by　the　stroke。　A　rifle！

He　looked　back；　saw　the　roan　standing　broadside　towards　him；　watched　the　sun　waver　and　then　flash　in　a　straight　steady　line　along　the　barrel　of　the　sheriff's　gun。　The　line　of　light　jerked　up；　and　before　the　sound　reached　him　a　blow　on　his　right　shoulder　sent　Vic　lurching　forward　against　the　pommel。　Afterwards　the　voice　of　the　rifle　rang　around　him　and　a　sharp　pain　twitched　up　and　down　his　side；　then　ran　tingling　to　his　fingertips。

It　was　the　stunning　blow　which　saved　him；　for　the　sheriff　had　the　range　and　his　third　bullet　would　have　clipped　Vic　between　the　shoulders；　but　Glass　had　seen　his　quarry　pitch　forward　in　the　saddle　and　he　would　not　waste　ammunition。　The　thrift　of　his　New　England　ancestry　spoke　in　Pete　now　and　then　and　he　could　only　grit　his　teeth　when　he　saw　Vic；　disappearing　on　the　other　side　of　the　crest；　straighten　in　the　saddle；　the　next　instant　the　top　of　the　hill　shielded　the　fugitive。

Well　and　nobly；　then；　Grey　Molly　repaid　all　the　praise；　all　the　tenderness　and　care　which　Vic　had　lavished　upon　her　in　the　past　years；　for　with　her　legs　shaking　from　the　struggle　of　that　last　climb；　with　a　rider　who　wobbled　crazily　in　his　seat；　with　reins　hanging　loose　on　her　neck；　with　not　even　a　voice　to　guide　or　to　encourage　her；　she　swept　straight　across　the　falling　ground；　gaining　strength　and　courage　at　every　stride。　By　the　time　Vic　had　regained　his　self…control　and　rallied　a　little　from　that　first　terrible　falling　of　the　heart；　the　dusty　roan　was　over　the　crest　and　streaking　after　the　game。　Grey　Molly　gained　steadily；　yet　even　when　he　gathered　the　reins　in　his　left　hand　Vic　knew　that　the　fight　was　done；　in　effect。　How　could　he　double　or　dodge　when　his　own　blood　spotted　the　trail　he　kept；　and　how　long　could　he　keep　the　saddle　with　the　agony　which　tore　like　saw　teeth　at　his　shoulder？

Grey　Molly　plunged　straight　into　the　shadow　of　pine　trees；　and　the　cool　gloom　fell　like　a　blessing　upon　Vic　in　his　torment；　it　was　heaven　to　be　sheltered　even　for　a　few　moments　from　the　eyes　of　the　posse。　At　the　opposite　edge　of　the　wood　he　drew　rein　with　a　groan。　Some　devil　had　prompted　Gus　Reeve　and　some　devil　had　poured　Reeve's　horse　full　of　strength；　for　yonder　down　the　valley；　not　a　hundred　yards　away；　galloped　a　rider　on　a　black　horse；　yet　Vic　could　have　sworn　that　when　he　looked　back　from　the　crest　he　had　seen　Gus　riding　the　very　last　in　the　posse。　An　instant　later　the　illusion　vanished；　for　the　black　horse　of　Gus　was　never　an　animal　such　as　this；　never　had　this　marvelous；　long　gait。　Its　feet　flicked　the　earth　and　shot　it　along　with　a　reaching　stride　so　easy；　so　flowing　that　only　the　fluttered　mane　and　the　tail　stretching　straight　behind　gave　token　of　the　speed。　For　the　rest；　it　carried　its　head　high；　with　pricking　ears；　the　sure　sign　of　a　horse　running　well　within　his　strength；　yet　Grey　Molly；　fresh　and　keen　for　racing；　could　hardly　have　kept　pace　with　the　black　as　it　slid　over　the　hills。　God　in　heaven；　if　such　a　horse　were　his　a　thousand　sheriffs　on　a　thousand　dusty　roans　could　never　take　him；　five　minutes　would　sweep　him　out　of　sight　and　reach。

Before　the　horseman　ran　a　tall　dog；　wolfish　in　head　and　wolfish　in　the　gait　which　carried　it　like　a　cloud　shadow　over　the　ground；　but　it　was　over…large　for　any　wolf　Vic　had　ever　seen。　It　turned　its　head　now；　and　leaped　aside　at　sight　of　the　stranger；　but　the　rider　veered　from　his　course　and　swept　down　on　Vic。　He　came　to　a　halt　close　up　without　either　a　draw　at　the　reins　or　a　spoken　word；　probably　controlling　his　mount　with　pressure　of　the　knees；　and　Gregg　found　himself　facing　a　delicately　handsome　fellow。　He　was　neither　cowpuncher　nor　miner；　Vic　knew　at　a　glance；　for　that　face　had　never　been　haggard　with　labor。　A　tenderfoot；　probably；　in　spite　of　his　dress；　and　Vic　felt　that　if　his　right　arm　were　sound　he　could　take　that　horse　at　the　point　of　his　gun　and　leave　the　rider　thanking　God　that　his　life　had　been　spared；　but　his　left　hand　was　useless　on　the　butt　of　a　revolver；　and　three　minutes　away　came　the　posse；　racing。　There　was　only　time　for　one　desperate　appeal。

〃Stranger；〃　he　burst　out；　〃I'm　follered。　I　got　to　have　your　hoss。　Take　this　one　in　exchange；　it's　the　best　I　ever　threw　a　leg　over。　Here's　two　hundred　bucks〃　he　flung　his　wallet　on　the　ground　and　swung　himself　out　of　the　saddle。

The　wolfish　dog；　which　had　growled　softly　all　this　time　and　roughed　up　the　hair　of　its　neck；　now　slunk　forward　on　its　belly。

〃Heel；　Bart！〃　commanded　the　stranger　sharply；　and　the　dog　whipped　about　and　stood　away；　whining　with　eagerness。

The　moment　Gregg's　feet　struck　the　ground　his　legs　buckled　like　saplings　in　a　wind　for　the　long　ride　had　sapped　his　strength；　and　the　flow　of　blood　told　rapidly　on　him　now。　The　hills　and　trees　whirled　around　him　until　a　lean；　strong　hand　caught　him　under　either　armpit。　The　stranger　stood　close。

〃You　could　have　my　hoss　if　you　could　ride　him；〃　said　he。　His　voice　was　singularly　unhurried　and　gentle。　〃But　you'd　drop　out　of　the　saddle　in　ten　minutes。　Who's　after　you？〃

A　voice　shouted　far　off　beyond　the　wood；　another　voice　answered；　nearer；　and　the　whole　soul　of　Gregg　turned　to　the　stallion。　Grey　Molly　was　blown；　she　stood　now　with　hanging　head　and　her　flanks　sunk　in　alarmingly　at　every　breath；　but　even　fresh　from　the　pasture　she　was　not　a　rag；　not　a　straw　compared　to　the　black。

〃For　God's　sake；〃　groaned　Vic；　〃loan　me　your　hoss！〃

〃You　couldn't　stick　the　saddle。　Come　in　here　out　of　sight；　I'm　going　to　take　'em　off　your　trail。〃

While　he　spoke；　he　led；　half　carried　Vic；　into　a　thicket　of　shrubs　with　a　small　open　space　at　the　center。　The　black　and　the　wolf…dog　followed　and　now　the　stranger　pulled　at　the　bridle　rein。　The　stallion　kneeled　like　a　trained　dog；　and　lying　thus　the　shrubbery　was　high　enough　to　hide　him。　Closer；　sweeping　through　the　wood；　Vic　heard　the　crash　of　the　pursuit；　yet　the　other　was　maddeningly　slow　of　speech。

〃You　stay　here；　partner；　and　sit　over　there。　I'm　borrowin'　your　gun〃a　swift　hand　appropriated　it　from　Vic's　holster　and　his　own　fingers　were　too　paralyzed　to　resist〃and　don't　you　try　to　ride　my　hoss　unless　you　want　them　teeth　in　your　throat。　Lie　quiet　and　tie　up　your　hurt。　Bart；　watch　him！〃

And　there　sat　Gregg　where　he　had　slipped　down　in　his　daze　of　weakness　with　the　great　dog　crouched　at　his　feet　and　snarling　ominously　every　time　he　raised　his　hand。　The　voices　came　closer；　the　crashing　burst　on　his　very　ears；　and　now；　through　the　interstices　of　the　shrubbery　he　saw　the　stranger　swing　into　the　saddle　on　Grey　Molly　and　urge　her　to　a　gallop。　He　could　follow　them　for　only　an　instant　with　his　eyes；　but　it　seemed　to　Vic　that　Molly　cantered　under　her　new　rider　with　strange　ease　and　lightness。　It　was　partly　the　rest；　no　doubt；　and　partly　the　smaller　burden。

A　deep　beat　of　racing　hoofs；　and　then　the　dusty　roan　shot　out　of　the　trees　close　by　with　the　sheriff　leaning　forward；　jockeying　his　horse。　It　seemed　that　no　living　thing　could　escape　from　that　relentless　rider。　Then　right　behind　Vic　a　horse　snorted　and　gruntedas　it　leaped　a　fallen　log；　perhapsand　he　watched　in　alarm　to　see　if　the　stallion　would　answer　that　sound　with　start　or　whinney。　The　black　lay　perfectly　still；　and　instead　of　lifting　up　to　answer　or　to　look；　the　head　lowered　with　ears　flat　back　until　the　long；　outstretched　neck　gave　the　animal　a　snaky　appearance。　The　dog；　too；　though　it　showed　murderous　fangs　whenever　Vic　moved；　did　not　stir　from　his　place；　but　lay　flattening　into　the　ground。

〃Cut　to　the　right！　Cut　to　the　right；　Harry！〃　came　the　voice　of　the　sheriff；　already　piping　from　the　distance　as　the　last　of　the　pos