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Updated: June 2, 2025
In swift death action he whirled, and with one last splendid leap he cleared the canyon rim. And he whirled downward with the little frog-like shape clinging to his neck! There was a pause which seemed never ending, a shock, and an instant s silence. Then up rolled a heavy crash, a long roar of sliding rocks dying away in distant echo, then silence unbroken. Wrangle's race was run.
Just what the speaker demands, without exception or modification equal privileges, rights, duties and obligations, without regard to the question of sex! Is that broad enough?" I was all in a tremble when it came to that. Somehow Mr. Wrangle's acceptance of the bid did not inspire me, although it promised so much. I had anticipated opposition, dissatisfaction, tumult. So had Mrs.
Venters aimed to the side of the trail and sent a bullet puffing the dust beyond Jerry. Venters hoped to frighten the rider and get him to take to the sage. But Jerry returned the shot, and his ball struck dangerously close in the dust at Wrangle's flying feet. Venters held his fire then, while the rider emptied his revolver.
Wrangle's long, swinging canter was a wonderful ground-gainer. His stride was almost twice that of an ordinary horse; and his endurance was equally remarkable. Venters pulled him in occasionally, and walked him up the stretches of rising ground and along the soft washes. Wrangle had never yet shown any indication of distress while Venters rode him.
"Run, you big devil! Run!" Venters laid the reins on Wrangle's neck and dropped the loop over the pommel. The sorrel needed no guiding on that smooth trail. He was surer-footed in a run than at any other fast gait, and his running gave the impression of something devilish. He might now have been actuated by Venters's spirit; undoubtedly his savage running fitted the mood of his rider.
You'd never believe it, Miss Withersteen, but I know. Wrangle's the biggest en' fastest hoss on the sage." "Oh no, Wrangle can't beat Black Star. But, Bern, take Wrangle if you will go. Ask Jerd for anything you need. Oh, be watchful careful.... God speed you." She clasped his hand, turned quickly away, and went down a lane with the rider.
In his mind perhaps, as certainly as in Venters's, this moment was the beginning of the real race. Venters leaned forward to put his hand on Wrangle's neck, then backward to put it on his flank. Under the shaggy, dusty hair trembled and vibrated and rippled a wonderful muscular activity. But Wrangle's flesh was still cold.
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