“He’s done!” yelled Hervey, and
shoving his rifle back in its holster, he spurred
again in the pursuit.
But Red Perris was not done. Scrambling with
his legs, tugging with his arms, he drew himself into
position and straightway collapsed along the back
of Alcatraz with both hands interwoven in the mane
of the horse.
And the stallion endured it! A shout of amazement
burst from the foreman and his men. Alcatraz
had tossed up his head, sent a ringing neigh of defiance
floating behind him, and then struck again into his
matchless, smooth flowing gallop!
Perhaps it was not so astonishing, after all, as some
men could have testified who have seen horses that
are devils under spur and saddle become lambs when
the steel and the leather they have learned to dread
are cast away.
But all Alcatraz could understand, as his mind grasped
vaguely towards the meaning of the strange affair,
was that the strong, agile power on his back had been
suddenly destroyed. Red Perris was now a limp
and hanging weight, something no longer to be feared,
something to be treated, at will, with contempt.
The very voice was changed and husky as it called
to him, close to his ear. And he no longer dared
to dodge, because at every swerve that limp burden
slid far to one side and dragged itself back with
groans of agony. Then something warm trickled
down over his shoulder. He turned his head.
From the breast of the rider a crimson trickle was
running down over the chestnut hair, and it was blood.
With the horror of it he shuddered.
He must gallop gently, now, at a sufficient distance
to keep the rifles from speaking behind him, but slowly
and softly enough to keep the rider in his place.
He swung towards the mares, running, frightened by
the turmoil, in the distance. But a hand on his
neck pressed him back in a different direction and
down into the trail which led, eventually, to the
ranch of Oliver Jordan. Let it be, then, as the
man wished. He had known how to save a horse from
the Little Smoky. He would be wise enough to
keep them both safe even from other men, and so, along
the trail towards the ranch, the chestnut ran with
a gait as gentle as the swing and light fall of a ground
swell in mid-ocean.
THE END OF THE RACE
Far behind him he could see the pursuers driving their
horses at a killing gallop. He answered their
spurt and held them safely in the distance with the
very slightest of efforts. All his care was given
to picking out the easiest way, and avoiding jutting
rocks and sharp turns which might unsettle the rider.
Just as, in those dim old days in the pasture, when
the short brown legs of the boy could not encompass
him enough to gain a secure grip, he used to halt gently,
and turn gently, for fear of unseating the urchin.
How far more cautious was his maneuvering now!
Here on his back was the power which had saved him
from the river. Here on his back was he whose
trailing fingers had given him his first caress.
