按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
He was very near to the ragged edge of a deep canyon into which the trail turned。 The ground lay in uneven ridges divided by washes； and these sloped into the canyon。 Following the canyon line； he saw where its rim was broken by other intersecting canyons； and farther down red walls and yellow cliffs leading toward a deep blue cleft that he made sure was Deception Pass。 Walking out a few rods to a promontory； he found where the trail went down。 The descent was gradual； along a stone…walled trail； and Venters felt sure that this was the place where Oldring drove cattle into the Pass。 There was； however； no indication at all that he ever had driven cattle out at this point。 Oldring had many holes to his burrow。
In searching round in the little hollows Venters； much to his relief； found water。 He composed himself to rest and eat some bread and meat； while he waited for a sufficient time to elapse so that he could safely give the horses a drink。 He judged the hour to be somewhere around noon。 Wrangle lay down to rest and Night followed suit。 So long as they were down Venters intended to make no move。 The longer they rested the better； and the safer it would be to give them water。 By and by he forced himself to go over to where Black Star lay； expecting to find him dead。 Instead he found the racer partially if not wholly recovered。 There was recognition； even fire； in his big black eyes。 Venters was overjoyed。 He sat by the black for a long time。 Black Star presently labored to his feet with a heave and a groan； shook himself； and snorted for water。 Venters repaired to the little pool he had found； filled his sombrero； and gave the racer a drink。 Black Star gulped it at one draught； as if it were but a drop； and pushed his nose into the hat and snorted for more。 Venters now led Night down to drink； and after a further time Black Star also。 Then the blacks began to graze。
The sorrel had wandered off down the sage between the trail and the canyon。 Once or twice he disappeared in little swales。 Finally Venters concluded Wrangle had grazed far enough； and； taking his lasso； he went to fetch him back。 In crossing from one ridge to another he saw where the horse had made muddy a pool of water。 It occurred to Venters then that Wrangle had drunk his fill； and did not seem the worse for it； and might be anything but easy to catch。 And； true enough； he could not come within roping reach of the sorrel。 He tried for an hour； and gave up in disgust。 Wrangle did not seem so wild as simply perverse。 In a quandary Venters returned to the other horses； hoping much； yet doubting more； that when Wrangle had grazed to suit himself he might be caught。
As the afternoon wore away Venters's concern diminished； yet he kept close watch on the blacks and the trail and the sage。 There was no telling of what Jerry Card might be capable。 Venters sullenly acquiesced to the idea that the rider had been too quick and too shrewd for him。 Strangely and doggedly； however； Venters clung to his foreboding of Card's downfall。
The wind died away； the red sun topped the far distant western rise of slope； and the long； creeping purple shadows lengthened。 The rims of the canyons gleamed crimson and the deep clefts appeared to belch forth blue smoke。 Silence enfolded the scene。
It was broken by a horrid； long…drawn scream of a horse and the thudding of heavy hoofs。 Venters sprang erect and wheeled south。 Along the canyon rim； near the edge； came Wrangle； once more in thundering flight。
Venters gasped in amazement。 Had the wild sorrel gone mad？ His head was high and twisted； in a most singular position for a running horse。 Suddenly Venters descried a frog…like shape clinging to Wrangle's neck。 Jerry Card！ Somehow he had straddled Wrangle and now stuck like a huge burr。 But it was his strange position and the sorrel's wild scream that shook Venters's nerves。 Wrangle was pounding toward the turn where the trail went down。 He plunged onward like a blind horse。 More than one of his leaps took him to the very edge of the precipice。
Jerry Card was bent forward with his teeth fast in the front of Wrangle's nose！ Venters saw it； and there flashed over him a memory of this trick of a few desperate riders。 He even thought of one rider who had worn off his teeth in this terrible hold to break or control desperate horses。 Wrangle had indeed gone mad。 The marvel was what guided him。 Was it the half…brute； the more than half…horse instinct of Jerry Card？ Whatever the mystery； it was true。 And in a few more rods Jerry would have the sorrel turning into the trail leading down into the canyon。
〃NoJerry！〃 whispered Venters； stepping forward and throwing up the rifle。 He tried to catch the little humped； frog…like shape over the sights。 It was moving too fast； it was too small。 Yet Venters shot once 。。。twice。。。the third time。。。four times。。。five！ all wasted shots and precious seconds！
With a deep…muttered curse Venters caught Wrangle through the sights and pulled the trigger。 Plainly he heard the bullet thud。 Wrangle uttered a horrible strangling sound。 In swift death action he whirled； and with one last splendid leap he cleared the canyon rim。 And he whirled downward with the little frog…like shape clinging to his neck！
There was a pause which seemed never ending； a shock； and an instant s silence。
Then up rolled a heavy crash； a long roar of sliding rocks dying away in distant echo； then silence unbroken。
Wrangle's race was run。
CHAPTER XVIII。 OLDRING'S KNELL
Some forty hours or more later Venters created a commotion in Cottonwoods by riding down the main street on Black Star and leading Bells and Night。 He had come upon Bells grazing near the body of a dead rustler； the only incident of his quick ride into the village。
Nothing was farther from Venters's mind than bravado。 No thought came to him of the defiance and boldness of riding Jane Withersteen's racers straight into the arch…plotter's stronghold。 He wanted men to see the famous Arabians； he wanted men to see them dirty and dusty； bearing all the signs of having been driven to their limit； he wanted men to see and to know that the thieves who had ridden them out into the sage had not ridden them back。 Venters had come for that and for morehe wanted to meet Tull face to face； if not Tull； then Dyer； if not Dyer； then anyone in the secret of these master conspirators。 Such was Venters's passion。 The meeting with the rustlers； the unprovoked attack upon him； the spilling of blood； the recognition of Jerry Card and the horses； the race； and that last plunge of mad Wrangleall these things； fuel on fuel to the smoldering fire； had kindled and swelled and leaped into living flame。 He could have shot Dyer in the midst of his religious services at the altar； he could have killed Tull in front of wives and babes。
He walked the three racers down the broad； green…bordered village road。 He heard the murmur of running water from Amber Spring。 Bitter waters for Jane Withersteen！ Men and women stopped to gaze at him and the horses。 All knew him； all knew the blacks and the bay。 As well as if it had been spoken； Venters read in the faces of men the intelligence that Jane Withersteen's Arabians had been kn