When he saw Bard scramble up the opposite bank he knew that his game was
lost and all the tables reversed, for the Easterner was a full two hours
closer to the home of Drew than he was, with the necessary detour up to
the ford. The Easterner might be delayed by the unknown country for a
time, but not very long. He was sure to meet someone who would point the
way. It was then that Nash drew his gun and shot down the piebald
mustang.
The next instant he was racing straight up the river toward the ford.
The roan was not spared this day, for there were many chances that Bard
might secure a fresh mount to speed him on the way to the Drew ranch,
and now it was all important that the big grey man be warned; for there
was a danger in that meeting, as Nash was beginning to feel.
By noon he reached the house and went straight to the owner, a desperate
figure, spattered with mud to the eyes, a three days' growth of whiskers
blackening his face, and that face gaunt with the long, hard riding. He
found the imperturbable Drew deep in a book in his office. While he was
drawing breath, the rancher examined him with a faint smile.
Pages:
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193