He was stunned, beaten down by poignant remorse. The Captain had made the long ride from Jed's to Ranger at a killing pace. VB remembered acutely now that the stallion had staggered as he emerged from Clear River and came into view of the saloon lights. And he had been there how long? An hour of poker, perhaps; an hour more at the outside. Two hours for the horse to regain the strength that had been taken from him in that cruel ride--a ride taken to satisfy the viciousness which made VB a man uncertain of himself!

The Captain had been wasted! He had gone, as had VB's heart and mind, to be a sacrifice for hideous G.o.ds! In an hour of weakness he had been offered, had been given gladly, and without thought of his value! For had not VB gloried in that ride to Ranger? Had it not been the end of all things for him? An end for which he was thankful? Had it not been all conscious, witting, planned? It had--and it had not been worth the candle!

The boy moaned aloud and wound his fingers in the flapping mane.

"Captain!" he cried. "It was all wrong--all false! I threw you away an hour ago, and now--you're _life_ to me! Oh, boy, will you forgive? Can you?"

No fear of death tapped the wells of his grief. There was only sorrow for his wasting of that great animal, that splendid spirit, that clean strength!

After a moment he sobbed: "You can't do anything else but go on, boy!

You're that sort! You'll go, then I'll go; anyhow, it will be together!"

And the great beast, blowing froth from his lips, struggled on, while from behind came the sounds of other running horses--perhaps a trifle nearer.

CHAPTER XXIV

Victory

The road writhed on through the sage brush sixteen miles from Ranger before it branched. Then to the right ran the S Bar S route, while straight on it headed into Jed's ranch, and the left-hand course, shooting away from the others behind a long, rocky point, followed Sand Creek up to the cl.u.s.ter of buildings which marked the domicile of d.i.c.k Worth.

It was more than halfway. The Captain, now trotting heavily, now breaking once more into a floundering gallop, pa.s.sed the first fork, that leading toward Worth's. With a gulp of relief VB saw that the moon hung low in the west--so low that the road home would be in the shadow of the point, which seemed to come down purposely to split the highway.

He might then find refuge in darkness somewhere. He must have refuge!

At the tenth mile he had suspected, now he knew, that it would be impossible to stand off his pursuers clear to the ranch, and there were no habitations between him and Jed's.

"They haven't gained on you, boy!" he cried as he made out the distinct outlines of the point. "They're right where they were at the start! No other horse in the world could have done it; not even you should be asked to do it--but--but--"

He choked back the sob that fought to come. He knew he must concentrate his last energy, now. If he came through there would be time to think of his crime against the Captain! But now-- Futures depend on lives.

His life dangled in the balance, and he wanted it, as men can want life only when they feel it slipping.

Back there three men raked the streaming sides of their ponies with vicious spurs.

"He can't make it!" Rhues swore. "Th' black's quittin' now! If he gits away, what chance we got? We got to git him! It'll give us th' last chance!"

"We're killin' our horses," growled Matson.

And Julio, a length behind, flogged his pinto mercilessly.

No craving for VB's life prompted Rhues now. He must go on for the sake of his own safety. He and those other two had all to gain and nothing to lose. If they could drop the man ahead it would be possible to skirt the ranches, catch fresh horses, and make on toward Wyoming. But let VB gain shelter with Jed or any one else, and a posse would be on their trail before they could be beyond reach.

No, there could be no turning back! They had made their bet; now they must back it with the whole stack. And before them--that blot in the moonlight--a wounded, suffering man cried aloud to the horse that moved so heavily under him.

"Make it to the point, Captain!" he begged. "Just there! It'll be dark!

Only a little faster, boy!"

The stallion grunted under the stress of his effort, moving for the moment with less uncertainty, with a jot more speed.

They crawled up to the point and followed the bend of the road as it led into the dimness of the gulch. Across the way, far to the right, moonlight fell on the cliffs, but where the road hung close to the rise at the left all was in shadow.

To VB, entering the murk was like plunging from the heat of glaring day to the cool of a forest.

The men behind him would be forced to come twice as close before they could make firing effective. Then, when he reached the ranch--

He threw out an arm in a gesture of utter hopelessness. Reach the ranch? He laughed aloud, mocking his own guilelessness. He had come only a little more than half the distance now, and Captain could scarcely be held at a trot. Three miles, possibly five, he might last, and then his rider would have to face his pursuers with empty hands.

His was the very epitome of despair. A weaker man would have quit then, would have let the stallion flounder to his finish, would have waited submissively for Rhues to come and shoot him down. But VB possessed the strength of his desperation.

Rhues might get him now, as he had tried to get him twice before, but he would get him by fighting. Not wholly for himself did the boy think, but for the likable, friendly Kelly, who had died there in his blankets without warning. If he could rid men of the menace which Rhues represented he would have done service, and the life of those last months had implanted within him the will to be of use--though, a few hours back, he might have thought it all a delusion.

So VB was alert with the acute alertness of mind which is given to humans when forced to fight to preserve life--when everything, the buried subconscious impulses, the forgotten, tucked-away memories, are in the fore, crying to help. Abandoning hope of reaching Jed's, he turned all his physical force, even, into the mental effort to seek a way out; fought his way to clarified thought, fought his way into logic. He could not go on much longer; there was no such thing as turning back, for he could hear them, nearer now! He could hear the click of pebbles as his pursuers' horses sent them scattering, and a pebble click will not travel far. Ahead--weakening muscles; behind--guns ready; to the right--moonlight; to the left--

The bridle rein drew across the Captain's lathered neck. The big beast swung to the left, out of the road, crashed through the brush, and lunged against the rise of rocks.

The horse seemed to sense the fact that this was the one remaining chance, the last possibility left in their bag of tricks. He picked his way up among the ragged bowlders and spiked brush with a quickness of movement that told of the breaking through into those reservoirs of strength which are held in man and beast until a last hope is found.

VB went suddenly faint. The loss of blood, the pain, the stress of nervous thought, the knowing that his full hand was on the table, caused him to reel dizzily in the saddle. He made no pretense of guiding the Captain. He merely sagged forward and felt the horse lunge and plunge and climb with him, heard the rasping breath that seemed to come from a torn throat.

Below and behind, the trailers swept from moonlight into shadow, horses wallowing as though that hard road were in deep mud, so great was the race that the stallion, spent though he might be, had given them. Rhues was ahead, revolver held higher than before, Matson's pony at his flank and Julio a dozen lengths behind. Bridle reins, knotted, hung loosely on their horses' necks; the three left hands rose and fell and quirts swished viciously through the night air.

"We got to close in!" Rhues cried. "We'll have him 'n a mile!"

And he called down on the heads of the horses awful imprecations for their weakness.

On into the darkness they stormed, Julio trailing. And when Rhues had pa.s.sed by fifty yards the point where the Captain had turned to take the steep climb the Mexican opened his throat in a cry, half of fright, half of exultation.

The Captain, almost at the end of his climb, leaping from rise to rise, had missed his footing. The soft earth slid as he jumped for a ledge of rock, and the front feet, coming down on the smooth surface in frantic clawing to prevent a fall, sent fire streaming from their shoes. In the darkness Julio had seen the orange sparks. At his cry the others set their ponies back on haunches and, following the Mexican, who now led, cursing VB and their weakening mounts, they commenced the climb. VB knew. The flash from the stallion's feet had roused him; he heard the shout; he knew what must follow. He gave no heed to the bullet which bored the air above him as he was silhouetted for the instant against moonlit s.p.a.ce before he commenced the drop to the road leading up Sand Creek.

Where now? With a sigh which ended in a quick choking, as though he were through, ready to give up this ghost of a chance, ready to quit struggling on, the Captain dropped from the last little rim and turned into the road. Not on ahead--into that void where they could ride him down. Not back toward Ranger, for it was impossibly far. Where then?

What was there? Sand Creek! And up Sand Creek was d.i.c.k Worth's!

VB caught his breath in a sob. It was the one goal open to him, though the odds were crushing. He pressed the money belt tightly. d.i.c.k Worth was the man who should have that--d.i.c.k Worth, deputy sheriff! He lifted his voice and cried aloud the name of the deputy.

To the north once more the Captain headed, and with no word from VB took up the floundering way again. The boy looked behind and saw the others commence the drop down the moonlit point--saw one of the blurs slump quickly and heard a man scream. Then he leaned low on the stallion and talked to the horse as he would talk to a child who could pilot him to safety.

Behind him, along the road, came the blot again, now, however, smaller.

VB did not know that it was Julio who had fallen, but he knew with a fierce delight that the Captain, running on his bare spirit, had killed off one of the pursuers!

The boy grew hysterical. He chattered to the stallion, knowing nothing of the words he uttered. At times his lips moved but uttered no sound.

Continually his hands sought his breast. He knew from the dampness that crept down his side, on down into the trouser leg, that the wound still bled, that his life was running out through the gash.

Through the clamoring of his heart a familiar ache came into his throat, and the boy lifted his voice into the night with a rant of rage, of self-denunciation.

"Oh, Captain! You were the price!" he moaned.

But still he wanted--just one drink! Not to satisfy that craving now, but to keep him alive, a legitimate use for stimulant.