Suddenly he burst out of a line of mesquite into the road. A long stretch of lonely road! How fiercely, with hot, strange joy, he wheeled his horse upon it! Then he was sweeping along, sure now that he was out in front. His horse still had strength and speed, but showed signs of breaking. Presently Duane looked back. Pursuers--he could not count how many--were loping along in his rear. He paid no more attention to them, and with teeth set he faced ahead, grimmer now in his determination to foil them.
He passed a few scattered ranch-houses where horses whistled from corrals, and men curiously watched him fly past. He saw one rancher running, and he felt intuitively that this fellow was going to join in the chase. Duane's steed pounded on, not noticeably slower, but with a lack of former smoothness, with a strained, convulsive, jerking stride which showed he was almost done.
Sight of the village ahead surprised Duane. He had reached it sooner than he expected. Then he made a discovery--he had entered the zone of wire fences. As he dared not turn back now, he kept on, intending to ride through the village. Looking backward, he saw that his pursuers were half a mile distant, too far to alarm any villagers in time to intercept him in his flight. As he rode by the first houses his horse broke and began to labor. Duane did not believe he would last long enough to go through the village.
Saddled horses in front of a store gave Duane an idea, not by any means new, and one he had carried out successfully before. As he pulled in his heaving mount and leaped off, a couple of ranchers came out of the place, and one of them stepped to a clean-limbed, fiery bay. He was about to get into his saddle when he saw Duane, and then he halted, a foot in the stirrup.
Duane strode forward, grasped the bridle of this man's horse.
“Mine's done--but not killed,” he panted. “Trade with me.”
“Wal, stranger, I'm shore always ready to trade,” drawled the man. “But ain't you a little swift?”
Duane glanced back up the road. His pursuers were entering the village.
“I'm Duane--Buck Duane,” he cried, menacingly. “Will you trade? Hurry!”
The rancher, turning white, dropped his foot from the stirrup and fell back.