"Here's the cayuse, Cassidy," cried Cowan, turning the animal over to
him. "_Wait_, Buck!" and he leaped into the building and ran out again,
shoving a bottle of brandy and a package of food into the impatient
foreman's hand. "Mebby Red or Hoppy'll need it--so long, an' good
luck!" and he was alone in a choking cloud of dust, peering through the
darkness along the river trail after a black mass that was swallowed up
almost instantly. Then, as he watched, the moon pushed its rim up over
the hills and he laughed joyously as he realized what its light would
mean to the crowd. "There'll be great doings when _that_ gang cuts
loose," he muttered with savage elation. "Wish I was with 'em. Damn
Injuns, anyhow!"
Far ahead of the main fighting force rode the three special-duty men,
reeling off the miles at top speed and constantly distancing their
friends, for they changed mounts at need, thanks to the lead horses
provided by Mr. Peters' cool-headed foresight. It was a race against
dawn, and every effort was made to win--the life of Red Connors hung in
the balance and a minute might turn the scale.
In Powers' old ranch house the night dragged along slowly to the grim
watcher, and the man huddled in the corner stirred uneasily and babbled,
ofttimes crying out in horror at the vivid dreams of his disordered
mind.
Pages:
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127