Also, there was cause for haste, for by this time Pierre must
have discovered that there was no one in the lower reaches of the
gorge and would be galloping back with all the speed of the
cream-colored mare which even McGurk's white horse could not match.
She ran from the cabin and into the little lean-to behind it where the
horses were tethered. There she swung her saddle with expert hands,
whipped up the cinch, and pulled it with the strength of a man,
mounted, and was off up the gorge.
For the first few minutes she let the long-limbed black race on at
full speed, a breathless course, because the beat of the wind in her
face raised her courage, gave her a certain impulse which was almost
happiness, just as the martyrs rejoiced and held out their hands to
the fire that was to consume them; but after the first burst of
headlong galloping, she drew down the speed to a hand-canter, and this
in turn to a fast trot, for she dared not risk the far-echoed sound of
the clattering hoofs over the rock.
And as she rode she saw at last the winking eye of red which she
longed for and dreaded.
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