He swayed far out,
riding the mustang so near the brink that the poor creature
shuddered. He capped his hands about his lips and the hunter screamed
encouragement to the hunted, yelled advice, shrieked his warnings when
treetrunks hurtled from behind.
It seemed to Red Perris that Alcatraz was not a brute beast but a soul
about to perish. So much do brave men love courage! Then he saw, a
hundred yards away, that the bank of the stream fell away until it
became a gradually shoaling beach to the water edge. With a shout of
hope he raced to this point of vantage and flung himself from the
saddle. Then, grasping the rope, he ran into the stream until it
foamed with staggering force about his hips.
But would Alcatraz live among those sweeping treetrunks and come
within casting distance of the rope? Even if he did, would the rope
catch around that head of which only the nose and eyes were showing?
Even if it caught could the stallion be drawn to shoal water without
being strangled by the slip-knot? Had Perris been a calm man he would
have discarded the thousandth chance which remained after all of these
possibilities. He would have looked, instead, to his cowpony which was
now cantering away towards liberty in the rear of the flying squadron
of mares.
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