to the fallen horse. "Just to set me on foot again.
He isn't up to murder when he sees another way. And for ten dollars he
could hire one of his hangers-on to kill a horse."

Well, it was just another trick for Blenham. On foot now he must make
what time he could to the Pinchot farm, some three or four miles
further on, demand a horse there, and pray that Barbee was equal to his
task. But first he must not leave the big roan to suffer needlessly
and hopelessly.

He struck a match and made a flaring torch of a little wisp of dry
grass. Loving a good horse as he did, he felt a sudden and utterly new
sort of hatred of Blenham go rushing along his blood.

It was with a deep sigh of relief that he straightened up when he saw
that either chance or a remarkable skill with a rifle had saved Brocky
Lane's roan from any protracted pain.

Packard pushed on, seeking to make what time he could, breaking into a
jog-trot time and again upon a down-slope, conserving wind and strength
for the up-hill climbs, keeping in the shadows for the most part but
taking his chance over and over in the moonlit open.

Yet it was being borne in upon him that it was useless to hurry now;
that Blenham had made of his advantage a safe lead; that he might as
well slow down, make a cigarette, take his time. And still, being the
sort of man he was, he kept doggedly on, telling himself that a race is
anybody's race until the tape is broken; that Blenham might be having
his own troubles somewhere ahead; that quitting did no good and that it
is not good to be a "quitter." But he had little enough hope of coming
up again with Blenham that night.

And then, when he had been on foot not more than twenty minutes, a
faint, even, drumming sound swelling steadily through the night
somewhere behind him put a new, quick stir in his blood. He stopped,
stood almost breathless a moment, listening.

The smooth drumming grew louder; suddenly topping a rise the two
headlights of an automobile flashed into his eyes. Terry Temple, her
errand done in Red Creek, was racing homeward.

"And I'll beat Blenham to it yet!" cried Steve.

Where the moonlight streamed brightest and whitest across the road he
sprang out so that she could not fail to see him, tossing up both arms
in signal to her to stop. Her headlights blinded him one moment; he
heard the warning blast of her horn; he entertained briefly the
suspicion that she was going to refuse to stop.

Incredi