iciously. There was
something behind him; something was following him. He looked, as it
were, over the shoulder of this other McTeague, and saw down there, in
the half light of the canyon, something dark crawling upon the ground,
an indistinct gray figure, man or brute, he did not know. Then he saw
another, and another; then another. A score of black, crawling objects
were following him, crawling from bush to bush, converging upon him.
"THEY" were after him, were closing in upon him, were within touch of
his hand, were at his feet--WERE AT HIS THROAT.

McTeague jumped up with a shout, oversetting the blanket. There was
nothing in sight. For miles around, the alkali was empty, solitary,
quivering and shimmering under the pelting fire of the afternoon's sun.

But once more the spur bit into his body, goading him on. There was to
be no rest, no going back, no pause, no stop. Hurry, hurry, hurry on.
The brute that in him slept so close to the surface was alive and alert,
and tugging to be gone. There was no resisting that instinct. The brute
felt an enemy, scented the trackers, clamored and struggled and fought,
and would not be gainsaid.

"I CAN'T go on," groaned McTeague, his eyes sweeping the horizon behind
him, "I'm beat out. I'm dog tired. I ain't slept any for two nights."
But for all that he roused himself again, saddled the mule, scarcely
less exhausted than himself, and pushed on once more over the scorching
alkali and under the blazing sun.

From that time on the fear never left him, the spur never ceased to
bite, the instinct that goaded him to fight never was dumb; hurry or
halt, it was all the same. On he went, straight on, chasing the receding
horizon; flagellated with heat; tortured with thirst; crouching over;
looking furtively behind, and at times reaching his hand forward, the
fingers prehensile, grasping, as it were, toward the horizon, that
always fled before him.

The sun set upon the third day of McTeague's flight, night came on, the
stars burned slowly into the cool dark purple of the sky. The gigantic
sink of white alkali glowed like snow. McTeague, now far into the
desert, held steadily on, swinging forward with great strides. His
enormous strength held him doggedly to his work. Sullenly, with his huge
jaws gripping stolidly together, he pushed on. At midnight he stopped.

"Now," he growled, with a certain desperate defiance, as though he
expected to be heard, "now, I'm going to lay up and get