ed everywhere
about him. Right into his face, but a greater distance away, rode the
posse from Rickett, the fifteen tried men and true; and having caught
the scheme of the trap they were killing their horses with a last
effort.

It failed through no fault of theirs. Just as the jaws of the trap were
about to close the black stallion whisked out from danger, lunged over
a swell of ground, and was out of view. When they reached that point,
yelling, Barry raced his black out of range of all except the wildest
chance shot. The eight from St. Vincent drove their weapons sullenly
into the holsters; for the last five minutes they had been silently
dividing ten thousand dollars by eight, and the awakening left a taste
of ashes.

They could only follow him now at a moderate pace in the hope of
wearing him down, and since a slight pause made little difference in the
result--it would even be an advantage to breathe their horses after that
burst,--they drew rein and cursed in chorus.

Chapter XXXII. Relays

The horses from St. Vincent already wheezed from the run, but the mounts
of the posse were staggering completely blown. Ever since they left
Rickett they had been going at close to top speed and the last rush
finished them; at least seven of that chosen fifteen would never be
worth their salt again, and they stood with hanging heads, bloody foam
upon their breasts and dripping from their mouths, their sides laboring,
and breathing with that rattle which the rider dreads. The posse, to a
man, swung sullenly to the ground.

"Who's boss, boys?" called Johnny Gasney, puffing in his saddle as he
rode up. "By God, we'll get him yet! They's a devil in that black hoss!
Who's boss?"

"I ain't exactly boss," answered Mark Retherton, whom not even fear of
death could hurry in his ways of speech, "but maybe I can talk for the
boys. What you want, Johnny?"

"You gents'll be needin' new hosses?"

"We'll be needin' graves for the ones we got," growled Mark, and he
stared gloomily at the dull eye of his pinto. "The best cuttin' out hoss
I ever throwed a leg over, and now--look at him!"

"Here's your relay!" cut in Johnny Gasney. "Old Billy 'phoned down."
Five men came leading three spare horses apiece. "He phoned down and
asked me to get fifteen hosses ready. He must of guessed where Barry
would head. And here they are--the best ponies in St. Vincent--but for
God's sake use 'em better'n you did that set!"

The other members of