hat the stallion kept
the posse easily in play. His breathing was a trifle harder, now, and
perhaps there was not quite the same light spring in his gallop, but
Barry, looking back, could tell by the tossing heads of the horses which
followed that they were being quickly run down to the last gasp. Mile
after 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 town
straight ahead and groaned in understanding.

It was rather new country to Barry, but the posse must know it like
a book. They were spending their horses freely because they hoped to
arrange for a fresh series of mounts in Wago. However, it would take
some time for them to arrange the details of the loan, and by that time
he would be out of sight among the hills which stretched ahead. That
would give him a sufficient start, and he would make the fords near
Caswell City comfortably ahead. At Caswell City, indeed, they might get
a still other relay, but just beyond the Asper River rose the Grizzly
Peaks--his own country, and once among them he could laugh the posse to
scorn.

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 the
village, could mark the cessation of their hoof-beats.

Ten minutes, five minutes at least for the change of horses, and that
time would put him safety among the hills.

But the impossible happened. There was no pause of minutes, hardly a
pause of seconds, when the rush of hoofbeats began again and poured out
from the town, fifteen desperate riders on fifteen fresh mounts. By some
miracle Wago had been warned and the needed horses had been kept there
saddled and ready for the relay.

It turned an easy escape into a close chance, but still his faith in
Satan was boundless to reach the fords in time, and the safety of the
mountains beyond. Another word, and with a snort the great-hearted
stallion swept up the slope, with Black Bart at his old work, skirting
ahead and choosing the easiest way. That was another great handicap
in favor of the fugitive, and every advantage counted with redoubled
significance now, every foot of distance saved, every inch of climb
avoided.

A new obstacle confronted him, for the low, rolling hills were
everywhere checkered with squares and oblongs of plowed ground, freshly
turned, and gua