Chapter XXXII. Relays
The horses from St. Vincent already wheezed from the run, but the mountsof the posse were staggering completely blown. Ever since they leftRickett they had been going at close to top speed and the last rushfinished them; at least seven of that chosen fifteen would never beworth their salt again, and they stood with hanging heads, bloody foamupon their breasts and dripping from their mouths, their sides laboring,and breathing with that rattle which the rider dreads. The posse, to aman, swung sullenly to the ground.
"Who's boss, boys?" called Johnny Gasney, puffing in his saddle as herode up. "By God, we'll get him yet! They's a devil in that black hoss!Who's boss?"
"I ain't exactly boss," answered Mark Retherton, whom not even fear ofdeath could hurry in his ways of speech, "but maybe I can talk for theboys. What you want, Johnny?"
"You gents'll be needin' new hosses?"
"We'll be needin' graves for the ones we got," growled Mark, and hestared gloomily at the dull eye of his pinto. "The best cuttin' out hossI ever throwed a leg over, and now--look at him!"
"Here's your relay!" cut in Johnny Gasney. "Old Billy 'phoned down."Five men came leading three spare horses apiece. "He phoned down andasked me to get fifteen hosses ready. He must of guessed where Barrywould head. And here they are--the best ponies in St. Vincent--but forGod's sake use 'em better'n you did that set!"
The other members of the posse set to work silently changing theirsaddles to the new relay, and Mark Retherton tossed his answer over hisshoulder to Johnny Gasney while he drew his cinch brutally tight.
"They's a pile of hoss-flesh in these parts, but they ain't more'n oneBarry. You gents can say good-bye to your hosses unless we nail himbefore they're run down."
Johnny Gasney rubbed his red, fat forehead, perplexed.
"It's all right," he decided, "because it ain't possible the black hosscan outlast these. But--he sure seemed full of runnin! One thing more,Mark. You don't need to fear pressin' Barry, because he won't shoot.He had his gun out, but I guess he don't want to run up his score anyhigher'n it is. He put it back without firin' a shot. Go on, boys, andgo like hell. Billy has lined up a new relay for you at Wago."
They made no pause to start in a group, but each sent home the spursas soon as he was in the saddle. They had ridden for the blood of PeteGlass before, but now at least seven of them rode for the sake of thehorses they had ruined, and to a cow-puncher a favorite mount is as dearas a friend.
They expected to find the black out of sight, but it was a welcomesurprise to see him not half a mile away wading across St. VincentCreek; for Barry quite accurately guessed that there would be a pause inthe pursuit after that hair-breadth escape, and at the creek he stoppedto let Satan get his wind. He would not trust the stallion to drink, butgave him a bare mouthful from his hat and loosened the cinches for aninstant.
Not that this was absolutely necessary, for Satan was neither blown norleg-weary. He stood dripping with sweat, indeed, but poised lightly, hishead high, his ears pricked, his nostrils distended to transparency ashe drew in great breaths. Even that interval Barry used, for he set towork vigorously massaging the muscles of shoulders and hips and whippingoff the sweat from neck and flank. It was several moments, andalready Satan's breath came easily, when Black Bart shot down fromhis watch-post and warned them on with a snarl, but still, before hetightened the cinches again and climbed to the saddle Barry took thefine head of the stallion between his hands.
"Between you and me, Satan," he murmured, "our day's work is jestbeginnin'. Are you feelin' fit?"
Satan nuzzled the shoulder of the master and snorted his answer; BlackBart had given the warning, and the stallion was eager to be off.
They crossed the creek at a place where the stones came almost to thesurface, since nothing is more detrimental to the speed of a horse thana plunge in cold water, and with the hoofbeats of the posse growingup behind they cantered off again a little cast of north, straight forCaswell City.
There was little work for Black Bart in such country as this, for therewas rarely a rise of ground over which a man on horseback could notlook, and the surface was race-track fast. Once Satan knew the directionthere was nothing for it but to sit the saddle and let him work, and hefell into his long-distance gait. It was a smart pace for any ordinaryanimal to follow through half a day's journey, and Barry knew withperfect certainty that there was not the slightest chance of even thefresh horses behind him wearing down Satan before night; but to hisastonishment the trailers rode as if they had limitless horseflesh attheir command. Perhaps they were unaware of the running that was stillin Satan, so Barry sent the stallion on at a free gallop that shuntedthe sagebrush past him in a dizzy whirl.
A mile of this, but when he looked back the posse were even closer. Theywere riding still with the spur! It was madness, but it was not his partto worry for them, and it was necessary that he maintain at least thisinterval, so he leaned a little forward to cut the wind more easily, andSatan leaped into a faster pace. He had several distinct advantagesover the mounts of the posse. At their customary rolling lope they willtravel all day with hardly a break, but they have neither the size northe length of leg for sustained bursts of speed. Moreover, most ofthe cowponies who now raced on the trail of Satan carried riders whooutweighed Barry by twenty pounds and in addition to this they wereburdened by saddles made ponderously to stand the strain of ropingcattle, whereas Barry's specially made saddle was hardly half thatweight. Perhaps more than all this, the cowponies rode by compulsion,urged with sharp spurs, checked and guided by the jaw-breaking curb,whereas Satan frolicked along at his own will, or at least at the willof a master which was one with his. No heavy bit worried his mouth, nopointed steel tormented his flanks. He had only one handicap--the weightof his rider, and that weight was balanced and distributed with the careof a perfect horseman.
With all this in mind it was hardly wonderful that the stallion keptthe posse easily in play. His breathing was a trifle harder, now, andperhaps there was not quite the same light spring in his gallop, butBarry, looking back, could tell by the tossing heads of the horses whichfollowed that they were being quickly run down to the last gasp. Mileafter mile there was not a pause in that murderous pace, and then,cutting the sky with a row of sharply pointed roofs, he saw a townstraight ahead and groaned in understanding.
It was rather new country to Barry, but the posse must know it likea book. They were spending their horses freely because they hoped toarrange for a fresh series of mounts in Wago. However, it would takesome time for them to arrange the details of the loan, and by that timehe would be out of sight among the hills which stretched ahead. Thatwould give him a sufficient start, and he would make the fords nearCaswell City comfortably ahead. At Caswell City, indeed, they might geta still other relay, but just beyond the Asper River rose the GrizzlyPeaks--his own country, and once among them he could laugh the posse toscorn.
He patted Satan on the shoulder and swept on at redoubled speed,skirting close to the town, while the posse plunged straight into it.
Listening closely, he could hear their shouts as they entered thevillage, could mark the cessation of their hoof-beats.
Ten minutes, five minutes at least for the change of horses, and thattime would put him safety among the hills.
But the impossible happened. There was no pause of minutes, hardly apause of seconds, when the rush of hoofbeats began again and poured outfrom the town, fifteen desperate riders on fifteen fresh mounts. By somemiracle Wago had been warned and the needed horses had been kept theresaddled and ready for the relay.
It turned an easy escape into a close chance, but still his faith inSatan was boundless to reach the fords in time, and the safety of themountains beyond. Another word, and with a snort the great-heartedstallion swept up the slope, with Black Bart at his old work, skirtingahead and choosing the easiest way. That was another great handicapin favor of the fugitive, and every advantage counted with redoubledsignificance now, every foot of distance sa
ved, every inch of climbavoided.
A new obstacle confronted him, for the low, rolling hills wereeverywhere checkered with squares and oblongs of plowed ground, freshlyturned, and guarded by tall fences of barbed-wire. They could be jumped,but jumping was no easy matter for a tiring horse, and Barry saw, witha sigh of relief, a sharp gulch to the left which cut straight throughthat region of broken farms and headed north and east pointing like anarrow in the direction of the fords. He swung down into it without athought and pressed on. The bottom was gravelly, here and there, fromthe effect of the waters which had once washed through the ravine andcut these sides so straight, but over the greater part of the bottomsand had drifted, and the going was hardly worse than the hillystretches above.
The sides grew higher, now, with great rapidity. Already they were up tothe shoulder of Satan, now up to his withers, and from behind the roarof the posse racing at full speed, filled the gulch with confusion ofechoes. They must be racing their horses as if they were entering thehomestretch, as if they were sure of the goal. It was strange.