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Updated: June 29, 2025
He dug his heels into the broncho's side, and although it had done its day's work, it reached out upon the trail as though fresh from the corral. It bucked malevolently as it went, but it went. It was apparent that no one else had seen the accident. Orlando had been at a point of vantage on a lonely rise about eighty feet above the level of the prairie.
There was no moon; but the sky was clear as it had been during the day, and the man needed no guide but the stars to show him the way. As he moved the hand of the Indian remained on the broncho's neck; and bit by bit as the time passed he felt the moist hair grow stiff and dry. Then, and not until then, came the final move, the beginning of the last relay.
Red pieces of glass and streaming water poured in a cataract down across the broncho's eyes as if very doom itself had suddenly cracked. A cataclysm could not have been more horrible. An indescribable fright and awe overwhelmed the brutish mind as with a cloud of lead. Down swiftly he dropped to his proper position, perhaps with a fear that his crown was gaping open from impact with the sky.
It was wonderful, the comprehension in the broncho's mind. But the pull was an awful thing. The rope came taut and began to be strained, and Suvy was sweating as he labored. Out on the end of it, bitten by the loop, that slipped ever tighter about him, the human figure was bent over sharply, between the two contending forces.
Worst of all, the fever of the fight was dying out from Weldon's veins. His pulses were slowing down, and the ceaseless jar of the gray broncho's gallop waked his wounded leg to a pain which fast became intolerable. Kruger Bobs edged closer to his side. "Boss sick?" he asked. "Not altogether content, Kruger Bobs." "Leg?" the boy questioned anxiously. "Yes; that and some other things."
Instead, without a moment's hesitation, he dashed his spurs into his broncho's flanks and swept round to the shadowed side of the rocks. He realized his folly when too late. The moment he entered the shade there came the slithering whirr of something cutting through the air.
"Get on," he said. "He was raised as a cradle for babies." Beth was pale, but she had to be a man. She stepped to the broncho's side and mounted to the saddle. Suvy trembled in every sinew of his being. Van gave him a pat on the neck again, turned his back and started straight northward. The pony followed at his heels like a dog with a master he loves.
Una ca see fut!" said the Chinese-cook, swearing vehemently in the language likeliest to count, and he ran at once towards the kitchen. Van was replacing the blindfold on the broncho's eyes. The animal was panting, sweating, quivering in every muscle. His ears went backward and forward rapidly. The blindfold shut out a wild, unreasoning challenge and defiance that burned like a torch in his eyes.
Seth dropped his broncho's hoof, which he had been examining carefully, and turned round. It would be impossible to describe the significance of his movement. It suggested the sudden rousing of a real fighting dog that had been disturbed in some peaceful pursuit. He was not noisy, he did not even look angry. He was just ready. "I guess you ought to know, Nevil Steyne," he said with emphasis.
We've followed their tracks from the rolling plain Through slime-green sloughs to a sedgy ravine, Where the cat-tail spikes of the marsh-grown flags Stand half as high as the billowy green. The spear-grass touched our saddle-bows, The blade-points pricked to the broncho's neck; But we followed the tracks like hounds on scent Till our horses reared with a sudden check.
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