He leaped to his feet and brandished the gleaming rifle.
"Go it, boy!" he shouted. "We'll meet again!"
One snort from Alcatraz--then he changed to a red streak flashing down
the hollow.
Before the stallion was out of sight, a cry rang down the wind. It
was chopped off by the crack of a rifle, and Lew Hervey spurred from
behind a neighboring hill and plunged after Alcatraz pumping shot on
shot at the fugitive. In a frenzy Perris jerked his own gun to the
shoulder and drew down on the pursuer, but the red anger cleared from
his mind as he caught the burly shoulders of Hervey in the sights. He
lowered the rifle with a grim feeling that he had never before been so
close to a murder.
A moment later he began to chuckle behind his set teeth. No wonder
they credited the chestnut with a charmed life. As he raced away
gaining a yard at every leap, he swerved like a jackrabbit from side
to side. Perhaps the deadly hum of bullets on many another chase had
taught him this trick of dodging, but beyond all doubt when Hervey
returned to the ranch that night he would have a tale of mystery. To
preserve his self-respect as a good marksman, what else could he do?
In the meantime pursued and pursuer scurried out of sight beyond a
hill; the gun barked far away and the echoes murmured lightly from the
hollows.
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