I drew up my knees and bent my body, and dodged and
went down flat over the pommel like a wild-riding Indian. Target kept that
straining run for a longer distance than I could judge. With the same
breakneck speed he thundered on over logs and little washes, through the
thick, bordering bushes, and around the sudden turns. His foam moistened my
face and flecked my sleeves. The wind came stinging into my face, the heavy
roar followed at my back with its menace.
Swift and terrible as the forest fire was, Target was winning the race. I
knew it. Steadily the roar softened, but it did not die away. Pound! pound!
pound! The big bay charged up the trail. How long could he stand that
killing pace? I began to talk soothingly to him, to pull on the bridle; but
he might have been an avalanche for all he heeded. Still I kept at him,
fighting him every moment that I was free from low branches. Gradually the
strain began to tell.
The sight of a cabin brought back to my mind the meaning of the wild race
with fire. I had forgotten the prisoners. I had reached the forest glade
and the cabin, but Target was still going hard. What if I could not stop
him! Summoning all my strength, I quickly threw weight and muscle back on
the reins and snapped the bit out of his teeth. Then coaxing, commanding, I
pulled him back.
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