The Seventh Man Read online

  Chapter X. One Trail Ends

  "You can trust Grey Molly to me, Vic," said Dan, standing at the head ofthe gray mare. "I'll keep her as safe as if she was Satan."

  Gregg watched her almost sadly. He had always taken a rather childishpride in her fierceness. She knew him as a dog knows its master and hehad always been the only one who could handle her readily in the saddle.But one who knew nothing of horses and their ways could see the ententewhich had been instantly established between Barry and Grey Molly. Whenhe spoke her ears pricked. When he raised his hand she stretched hernose inquisitively.

  There was no pitch in her when Barry swung into the saddle and thatwas a thing without precedent in Molly's history. She tried none of herusual catlike side-steps and throwing of the head. Altogether, Vic wastroubled even as he would have been at the sight of Betty Neal in thearms of another man. It was desertion.

  "Dan," he said, "I know what you've done for me and I know what you'redoin' now." He took the slender hand of the other in his big paw.

  "If the time comes when I can pay you back, so help me God--"

  "Oaths don't do no good," cut in Barry without a trace of emotion. Headded frankly: "It ain't altogether for your sake. Those gents downthere have played tag once with me and now I'd like to play with them.Molly's fresh today."

  He was already looking over his shoulder while he spoke; as if his mindwere even then at work upon the posse.

  "S'long."

  "S'long, partner. Good luck."

  So they parted and Vic, jogging slowly up the steep path, saw Grey Mollywheeled and sent at a sweeping gallop over the meadow. His heartleaped jealously and the next moment went out in a flood of gratitude,admiration, as Barry swung off the shoulder of the mountain, waved hishat towards Kate, and dipped at once out of sight.

  The shelving ground along which Barry rode sometimes was a broad surfacelike a spacious, graded road; again it shelved away and opened a viewof all the valley. When he reached the first of these places the riderlooked back and down and saw the posse skirting rapidly on his side ofthe river, behind him and close to the cliff. They rode at an easy lope,and he could see that their heads were bent to watch the ground. Evenat this casual gait they would reach the point at which he and the graymust swing onto the floor of the valley before him unless he urged Mollyto top speed. He must get there at a sufficient distance from themto escape close rifle fire, and certainly beyond point-blank revolverrange. Accordingly he threw his weight more into the stirrups and overthe withers of the mare. This brought greater poundage on her forehandand made her apt to stumble or actually miss her step, but it increasedher running power.

  There was no need of a touch of the spurs. The gathering of the reinsseemed to tell Molly everything. One ear flickered back, then she leapedout at full speed. It was as though the mind of the man had sent anelectric current down the reins and told her his thought. Now shefloundered at her foot, struck a loose stone, now she veered sharply andwide to escape a boulder, now she cleared a gulley with a long leap, andriding high as he was, bent forward out of balance to escape observationfrom below. It was only a miracle of horsemanship that kept her frombreaking her neck as they lurched down the pitch. Grey Molly seemed tobe carrying no weight, only a clinging intelligence.

  At this speed he was sure to reach the valley safely in front unless theposse caught sight of him on the way and gave chase, and Barry countedon that instinct in hunting men which makes them keep their eyeslow--the same sense which leads a searcher to look first under the bedand last of all at the wall and ceiling. Once more, as he neared hisgoal, he looked back and down, and there came the six horsemen, theirquirts swinging, their hat-brims blown straight up they raced at fullspeed. They had seen the gray and they rode for blood.

  The outstretched neck of Grey Molly, her flattened ears, the rapidclangor of her hoofs on the rocks, seemed to indicate that she alreadywas doing her uttermost, but after the glimpse of the pursuit, Barrycrouched a little lower, his hand gathering the reins just behind herhead, his voice was near her, speaking softly, quickly. She respondedwith a snort of effort, as though she realized the danger and willinglyaccepted it. One ear, as she rushed down the slope, was pricked and oneflagged back to the guiding, strengthening voice of the rider.

  The path wound in leisurely curves now, but there was a straightcut down a slide of gravel, a dangerous slope even in firm ground, aterrible angle with those loose pebbles underfoot. Yet this was a timefor chance-taking. Already the dusty man on the roan rode with hisrevolver balanced for the snap shot. The next instant his gun swungdown, he actually reined up in astonishment. The fugitive had flunghimself far back against the cantle and sent Grey Molly at the slide. Itwas not a matter of running as the mare shot over the brink. Mollysat back on her haunches, braced her forelegs, and went down like anavalanche. Over the rush and roar of the pebbles, over the yell ofwonder from the pursuers, she heard the voice of her rider, a clear andsteady voice, and the tautened reins telegraphed to her bewildered mindthe wish of the man. She struck the level with stunning force, toppled,nearly fell, and then straightened along her course in a staggeringgallop. Started from its nice balance by the rush of stones theyloosened, a ten-ton rock came toppling after, leaped up from the valleyfloor like a live thing, and then thundered away towards the river.

  Grey Molly, finding her legs once more, tried the level going. Shehad beaten the same horses before under the crushing impost of Gregg'sweight. With this lighter rider who clung like a part of her, who gaveperfectly to the rhythm of her gallop, she fairly walked away from theposse. Once, twice and again the gun spoke from the hand of Pete Glass,but it was the taking of a long last chance rather than a sign ofclosing on his chase. In ten minutes Grey Molly dipped out of sightamong the hills.

  After the first hour Barry could have cut away across country withlittle fear of discovery from the sheriff, but he was in no hurry toescape. Sometimes he dismounted and looked to his cinches and talked tothe horse. Grey Molly listened with pricking ears and often canted herhead to one side as though she strove to understand the game.

  It was a new and singular pleasure to Barry. He was accustomed to theexhaustless, elastic strength of Satan, with the cunning brain of abeast of prey and the speed of an antelope. On the black horse he couldhave ridden circles around that posse all day. But Grey Molly wasa different problem. She was not a force to be simply directed andcontrolled. She was something to be helped. Her very weakness, comparedwith the stallion, appealed to him. And it was a thrilling pleasure tofeel his power over her grow until she, also, seemed to have entered thegame.

  A game it was, as he had said to Vic when they parted, with therather essential difference that in this pastime one was tagged with aforty-five caliber chunk of lead and was quite apt to remain "it"for the remainder of eternity. Barry dropped further and further backtowards the posse. The danger fascinated him. Once he whistled highand shrill as a hawk's scream from the top of a bluff while the posselabored through a ravine below. He saw the guns flash out, and waited.He heard the sing of the bullets around him, and the splashing lead on asolid-rock face just beneath him; he listened till the deep echoes spokefrom the gulch, then waved his hat and disappeared.

  This was almost defeating the purpose of his play for if he came thatclose again they would probably make out that they were following adecoy. Accordingly, since he had now drawn them well away from Vic'sline of escape, he turned his back reluctantly on the posse and struckacross the hills.

  He kept on for the better part of an hour before he doubled and swung ina wide circle towards his cabin. He had laid out a course which the wisesheriff could follow until dark and be none the wiser; and if Pete Glasswere the finest trailer who ever studied sign and would never be able toread the tokens of the return ride. Accordingly, with all this well inmind, he brought Grey Molly to a full halt and gazed around, utterlystunned by surprise, when, half way up the valley, a rifle spoke smallbut sharp from one side, and a bullet clipped the rocks not the l
engthof the horse away. He understood. When he cut straightaway across thecountry he had indeed left a baffling trail, a trail so dim, in fact,that Pete Glass had wisely given it up and taken the long chance bycutting back to the point at which the hunt began. So their pathscrossed.

  Barry spoke sharply to the mare and loosed the reins, but she startedinto a full gallop too late. There came a brief hum, a thudding blow,and Grey Molly pitched forward.