s, the best they could gather
on such short notice. Swinging north along that side of the U, Wago
would next be warned to get its contribution of fifteen horses ready,
and this fresh relay would send Barry thundering along towards Caswell
City at full speed. Then Caswell City would send out its contingent of
men and horses, and turn the fugitive back from the fords. By this time,
unless his horse were better winded than any that Billy had ever dreamed
of, it would be staggering at every stride, and the fresh horses from
Caswell City would probably ride him down before he had gone five miles.
Even in case they failed in this, there was the little town of Ganton,
which would be ready with its men and mounts. Perhaps they could hem
in the desperado from the front and shoot him down there, as he skirted
along the river. At the worst they would furnish the fresh horses and
the fifteen hardy riders would spur at full speed south along the river.
If again, by some miracle, the black stallion lasted out this run,
Wilsonville lay due ahead, and that place would again give new horses to
the chase.

Last of all, the men of Bly Falls could be warned. Bly Falls was a town
of size and it could turn out enough men to block a dozen Dan Barrys, no
matter how desperate. If he reached that point, he must turn back. The
following posse would catch him from the rear, and between two fires he
must die ingloriously. Taking the plan as a whole it meant running Barry
close to a hundred miles with six sets of horses.

It all hinged, however, on the first step: Could the men of St. Vincent
turn him out of his western course and send him north towards Caswell
City? If they could, he was no better than a dead man. All things
favored Billy. In the first place it was still morning, and eight hours
of broad daylight would keep the fugitive in view every inch of the way.
In the second place, much of the distance was cut up by the barb-wire
fences of the farm-lands, and he must either jump these or else stop to
cut them.

A crackle of laughter cut in on Billy the clerk. They were laughing in
that inner office, where the sheriff lay dead. Blood swept across his
eyes, set his brain whirling, and he rushed to the door.

"You yelpin' coyotes!" shouted Billy the clerk. "Get out. I got to be
alone! Get out, or by God--"

It was not so much his words, or the fear of his threats, but the very
fact that Billy the clerk, harmless, smiling old Billy, had burs