Far above, the side of the mountain was still marked by a
raw wound where the landslide had swept, cutting deeper and deeper,
until it choked the narrow ravine with an incalculable mass of sand,
crushed trees, and a rubble of broken stone. It had dammed the Little
Smoky, but soon topping the obstruction, the river now poured over the
crest and filled the valley with a noise of rushing and shouting so
caught up by echoes that Alcatraz seemed to be standing inside a whole
circle of invisible waterfalls.
He wondered at that sight for only an instant; then, as the meaning
drove home to him, he wheeled and raced down the valley. This was the
explanation of the Enemy's move towards the throat of the canon!
He passed the mares like a red streak of light, his ears flagging back
and his tail swept out straight behind by the wind of his gallop. He
rushed about the next turn of the cliff and saw that the race had been
in vain--the Great Enemy was spurring his reeling cowpony into the
mouth of the Little Smoky gap!
The chestnut made his calculations without slackening his pace. The
man was in the valley, but he had not yet reached that narrow throat
where his lariat was of sufficient radius to cover the space between
the wall of the canon and the stream.
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