That blunder lost fatal yards, but still it did its honest
best. It was a veteran of many a round-up. No pony in the arduous
work of cutting out was surer of eye or quicker of foot, and now this
dodging back and forth brought a gleam into the bronco's eyes. There
was no need of the goading spur of Perris to make it spring forth at
full speed, running on nerve-power in place of the sapped strength of
muscle.
The stumble had given Alcatraz a fighting chance for his freedom--that
was all. He recognized the flying peril as he raced in a wide loping
semicircle. If the river were twenty yards further off he, running two
feet to the cowpony's one, would brush through safely, but as it was
no one could tell. He knew the reach of a lariat as well as a man;
had not Cordova tormented him devilishly with one time and again?
Estimating the speed of his approaching enemy and the reach of the
rope he felt that he could still gain freedom--unless luck was against
him.
The burst of Alcatraz for the river and safety was a remarkable
explosion of energy. Out of the corner of his reddening eye, as he
gained swift impetus after his swerve, he saw the cowpony wheel,
falter, and then burst across in pursuit to close the gap.
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