, of
a mile, of two miles. And now, as the hour appointed drew close,
people began to forget that they had come to a race course, and to
remember that their entertainment, open handedly given, came from a man
who was a fugitive from justice and who was going to be robbed under
their eyes of five thousand dollars. That strange thing, public
sentiment, swerved abruptly. There were many men there that day who
shook their heads and spoke in low voices, mentioning Sledge Hume's
name.

"If Shandon could be tried by a jury picked from this crowd," meditated
Edward Kinsell, "he'd go scot free in ten minutes!"

What this small group of men had to do upon the knoll ten miles from
the Bar L-M was done perfunctorily and in gloom. Little by little, man
by man, they drew away from Hume, leaving him standing alone. They
looked at his horse, by long odds the finest animal they had seen this
day, and from Endymion they looked to his master. Now and then a quick
glance went to Big Bill. He said no word. His face was black with a
wrath that seemed to choke him.

The starter, Dick Venable of White Rock, looked at his watch and this
time did not return it to his pocket.

"It's two minutes of one," he said, his voice snapping out hard and
curt. "This race is scheduled to start at one o'clock. All ready, Mr.
Hume?"

"All ready," laughed Hume. He stepped to Endymion's head, jerked off
the halter and swung up into the saddle.

"All ready, Shandon?"

Again Hume laughed. Dick Venable waited a moment and snapped his watch
shut.

"My job's to start this race if there's one man here to run it," he
said. "Shandon isn't here. It isn't my job to express any opinions.
The first horse, ridden by either Sledge Hume or Wayne Shandon, to
cross that line as a start and to break the tape by the platform at the
Bar L-M wins the money. When I fire a gun you're off, Hume. Ready!"

The men began to turn away. Hume sat erect on his horse, coldly
indifferent to the opinion these men held of him. He moved so that he
held Endymion's restless head over the line marked by Venable's boot.

"All right, Charlie?" Venable asked of Granger.

"All right," grunted Granger. "And wrong as hell. Get it over with."

Venable raised his arm, his revolver high above his head. The
bystanders swung up to their horses' backs. Two miles away another
little group of men with field glasses were upon a ridge from which
they could see the start, from wh