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Updated: June 29, 2025
Again, a mile further on, he tried to swing back into the cleared course that would bring him the shortest way to the bridge. Again he saw that MacKelvey had anticipated this, and was coming close to killing his own horse to cut him off. And, his eyes growing black, the fear of the end of the race came upon him. Had he done this wild thing for nothing then?
She saw the broken imprints of the Canadian snowshoes, the smooth tracks of the skis, and demanded sharply: "Which men wore the webs?" "Them tennis racket things? MacKelvey and one of his thieves." He looked at her wonderingly. What difference did that make? But Wanda took no time for explanations.
He knew that MacKelvey had a rifle strapped to his saddle and that long before now the rifle would be in MacKelvey's hands. He knew that at the end of the race Wanda Leland, her heart beating madly for him, was waiting. "Can't you do it, Little Saxon?" he whispered. "For her sake, can't you do it?"
Even Willie Dart had scrambled to his horse, even he was chasing along wildly, oblivious of the steep pitch, of a more than likely fall. To Big Bill's voice had joined other voices, shouting to MacKelvey to give the man a chance. But MacKelvey did not listen. They tried to push their horses between him and the man it was his sworn duty to bring into court.
"Nothing in the world can be done unless oh, I have thought so much about this, Wayne unless the real murderer can be found. Surely if you offered rewards, if you hired detectives, if you talked with MacKelvey " "Wanda," he interrupted, his voice at once stern and troubled. "Do you remember when you gave me the revolver that morning? I didn't explain to you, even you. I couldn't.
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