Chapter XXXV. The Asper
Ninety miles of ground, at least, had been covered by the blackstallion, since he left Rickett that morning, yet when he gallopedacross the plain in full sight of Wilsonville there were plenty ofwitnesses who vowed that Satan ran like a colt frolicking over apasture. Mark Retherton knew better, and the posse to a man felt theend was near. They changed saddles in a savage silence and went down thestreet out of town with a roar of racing hoofs.
And Barry too, as he watched them whip around the corner of the lasthouse and streak across the fields, knew that the end of the ride wasnear. Strength, wind and nerve were gone from Satan; his hoofs poundedthe ground with the stamp of a plowhorse; his breath came in wheezeswith a rattle toward the end; the tail no longer fluttered out straightbehind. Yet when the master leaned and called he found something in hisgreat heart with which to answer. A ghost of his old buoyancy came inhis stride, the drooping head rose, one ear quivered up, and he ranagainst the challenge of those fresh ponies from Wilsonville. There weremen who doubted it when the tale was told, but Mark Retherton swore tothe truth of it.
Even then that desperate effort was failing. Not all the generous willin the heart of the stallion could give his legs the speed they needed;and he fell back by inches, by feet, by yards, toward the posse. Theydisdained their guns now, and kept them in the cases; for the game wastheirs.
And then they noted an odd activity in the fugitive, who had slipped toone side and was fumbling at his cinches. They could not understand fora time, but presently the saddle came loose, the cinches flipped out,and the whole apparatus crashed to the ground. Nor was this all. Therider leaned forward and his hands worked on the head of his mount untilthe hackamore also came free and was tossed aside. To that thing fifteengood men and true swore the next day with strange oaths, and told how aman rode for his life on a horse that wore neither saddle nor bridle butran obediently to voice and hand.
Every ounce counted, and there were other ounces to be spared. He wasleaning again, to this side and then to that, and presently the posserushed past the discarded riding-boots.
There lay the rifle in its case on the saddle far behind. And with therifle remained all the fugitive's chances of fighting at long range.Now, following, came the heavy cartridge belt and the revolver with it.The very sombrero was torn from his head and thrown away.
His horse was failing visibly; not even this lightening could keep itaway from the posse long; and yet the man threw away his sole chance ofsafety. And the fifteen pursuers cursed solemnly as they saw the truth.He would run his horse to death and then die with it empty handed ratherthan let either of them fall a captive.
Unburdened by saddle or gun or trapping, the stallion gave himself inthe last effort. There ahead lay safety, if they could shake off thislast relay of the posse, and for a time he pulled away until Rethertongrew anxious, and once more the bullets went questing around thefugitive. But it was a dying effort. They gained; they drew away; andthen they were only holding the posse even, and then once more, theyfell back gradually toward the pursuit. It was the end, and Barry satbolt erect and looked around him; that would be the last of him and thelast scene he should see.
There came the posse, distant but running closer. With every strideSatan staggered; with every stride his head drooped, and all the liltof his running was gone. Ten minutes, five minutes more and the fifteenwould be around him. He looked to the river which thundered there at hisside.
It was the very swiftest portion of all the Asper between Tucker Creekand Caswell City. Even at that moment, a few hundred yards away, a talltree which had been undermined, fell into the stream and dashed thespray high; yet even that fall was silent in the general roar of theriver. Checked by the body and the branches of the tree for an instantbefore it should be torn away from the bank and shot down stream, thewaters boiled and left a comparatively smooth, swift sliding currentbeyond the obstruction; and it gave to Barry a chance or a ghost of achance:
The central portion of the river bed was chopped with sharp rocks whichtore the stream into white rages of foam; but beyond these rocks, alittle past the middle, the tree like a dam smoothed out the current; itwas still swift but not torn with swirls or cross-currents, and in thattriangle of comparatively still water of which the base was the fallentree, the apex lay on a sand bar, jutting a few yards from the bank. Andthe forlorn hope of Barry was to swing the stallion a little distanceaway from the banks, run him with the last of his ebbing strengthstraight for the bank, and try to clear the rocky portion of the riverbed with a long leap that might, by the grace of God, shoot him intothe comparatively protected current. Even then it would be a game onlya tithe won, for the chances were ten to one that before they couldstruggle close to the shore, the currents would suck them out toward thecenter. They would never reach that shelving bit of sand, but the sharprocks of the stream would tear them a moment later like teeth. Yet thedimmest chance was a good chance now.
He called Satan away from his course, and at the change of directionthe stallion staggered, but went on, turned at another call, and headedstraight for the stream. He was blind with running; he was numbed by thelong horror of that effort, no doubt, but there was enough strengthleft in him to understand the master's mind. He tossed his head high, heflaunted out his tail, and sped with a ghost of his old sweeping galloptoward the bank.
"Bart!" shouted the master, and waved his arm.
And the wolf saw too. He seemed to cringe for a moment, and then, likesome old leader of a pack who knows he is about to die and defies hisdeath, he darted for the river and flung himself through the air.
An instant later Satan reared on the bank and shot into the air. Belowhim the teeth of the rocks seemed to lift up in hunger, and the whitefoam jumped to take him. The crest of the arc of his jump was passed; heshot lower and grazing the last of the stones he plunged out of sightin the swift water beyond. There were two falls, not one, for even whilethe black was in the air Barry slipped from his back and struck thewater clear of Satan.
They came up again struggling in the last effort toward the shore. Theimpetus of their leap had washed them well in toward the bank, but thecurrents dragged them out again toward the center of the stream wherethe rocks waited. Down river they went, and Black Bart alone had a ghostof a chance for success. His leap had been farther and he skimmed thesurface when he struck so that by dint of fierce swimming he huggedclose to the shore, and then his claws bedded in the sand-bank.
As for Barry, the waters caught him and sent him spinning over and over,like a log, whipping down stream, while the heavier body of Satan wasstruggling whole yards above. There was no chance for the master toreach the sand-bank, and even if he reached it he could not cling; butthe wolf-dog knew many things about water. In the times of famine longyears before the days of the master there had been ways of catchingfish.
He edged forward until the water foamed about his shoulders. Down cameDan, his arms tumbling as he whirled, and on the sleeve of one of thosearms the teeth of Bart closed. The cloth was stout, and yet it ripped asif it were rotten veiling, and the tug nearly swept Bart from his place.Still, he clung; his teeth shifted their hold with the speed of lightand closed over the arm of the master itself, slipped, sank deeper, drewblood, and held. Barry swung around and a moment later stood with hisfeet buried firmly in the bank.
He had not a moment to spare, for Satan, only his eyes and his noseshowing, rushed down the current, making his last fight. Barry thrusthis feet deeper in the sand, leaned, buried both hands in the mane ofthe stallion. It was a far fiercer tug-of-war this time, for the amplebody of the horse gave the water a greater surface to grapple on, yetthe strength of the man sufficed. His back bowed; his shoulders achedwith the strain; and then the forefeet of Satan pawed the sand, andall three staggered up the shelving bank, reeled among the trees, andcollapsed in safety.
So great was the roar of the water that they heard neither shouts northe reports of the guns, but for several minutes the bullet
s of theposse combed the shrubbery as high as the breast of a man.