blood was telling rapidly now. He clutched the
pommel, set his teeth, and felt oblivion settle slowly and surely upon
him. As his senses left him he noted the black outlines of the next
high range of hills, a full ten miles away.

He only knew the pace of Satan never slackened. There seemed no effort
in it. He was like one of those fabled horses, the offspring of the
wind, and like the wind, tireless, eternal of motion.

A longer oblivion fell upon Dan. As he roused from it he found
himself slipping in the saddle. He struggled desperately to grasp the
saddlehorn and managed to draw himself up again; but the warning was
sufficient to make him hunt about for some means of making himself
more secure in the saddle. It was a difficult task to do anything
with only one hand, but he managed to tie his left arm to the
bucking-strap. If the end came, at least he was sure to die in the
saddle. Vaguely he was aware as he looked around that the black hills
were no longer in the distance. He was among them.

On went Satan. His breath was coming more and more laboured. It seemed
to Dan's dim consciousness that some of the spring was gone from that
glorious stride which swept on and on with the slightest undulation,
like a swallow skimming before the wind; but so long as strength
remained he knew that Satan would never falter in his pace. As the
delirium swept once more shadow-like on his brain, he allowed himself
to fall forward, and wound his fingers as closely as possible in the
thick mane. His left arm jerked horribly against the bonds. Black
night swallowed him once more.

Only his invincible heart kept Satan going throughout that last
stretch. His ears lay flat on his neck, lifting only when the master
muttered and raved in his fever. Foam flew back against his throat
and breast. His breath came shorter, harder, with a rasp; but the
gibbering voice of his rider urged him on, faster, and faster. They
topped a small hill, and a little to the left and a mile away, rose
a group of cottonwoods, and Dan, recovering consciousness, knew the
house of Buck. He also knew that his last moment of consciousness was
come. Surges of sleepy weakness swept over his brain. He could never
guide Satan to the house.

"Bart!" he called feebly.

The wolf whining, dropped back beside him. Dan pointed his right arm
straight ahead. Black Bart leaped high into the air and his shrill
yelp told that he had seen the cottonwoods and the house.

Dan s