nd 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