On
and on he sped, flashing in and out among the clumps of cottonwood. At
the rise of the trail he halted suddenly to peer ahead and listen. A
full minute he stood while in his ears sounded only the low hum of
mosquitoes and the far-off grind of derrick wheels.
He glanced upward and for a moment his heart stood still. Far above,
on the rim of the bench, silhouetted clearly against the moonlight sky
were two figures on horseback. Even as he looked the figures blended
together--there was a swift commotion, a riderless horse dashed from
view, and the next moment the sky-line showed only the rim of the bench.
The moon turned blood-red. And with a curse that sounded in his ears
like the snarl of a beast, Winthrop Adams Endicott tightened his grip
upon the revolver and headed the horse up the steep ascent.
The feel of his horse labouring up the trail held nothing of
exhilaration for Endicott. He had galloped out of Wolf River with the
words of the half-breed ringing in his ears: "Mebbe-so you ride lak'
hell you com' long in tam'!" But, would he "com' long in tam'"? There
had been something of sinister portent in that swift merging together
of the two figures upon the sky-line, and in the flash-like glimpse of
the riderless horse. Frantically he dug his spurless heels into the
labouring sides of his mount.
Pages:
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110