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He gave Gledware's pony a vicious cut with his lariat； and drove the
spurs into his own broncho。 The thunder of hoofs as they plunged in
different directions； caused a sudden commotion within the isolated cabin。
The door was flung open； and in the light that streamed forth； Willock；
looking back； saw dark forms rush out； gather about the prostrate forms of
the two brothers； move here and there in indecision； then； by a common
impulse； burst into a swinging run for the horses。
As for Gledware； he never once turned his face。 Urging on his horse at
utmost speed； and clasping the child to his breast； he raced toward the
light。 The shadow of horse； man and child； at first long and black； lessened
to a mere speck； then vanished with the rider beyond the circle of the level
world。
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CHAPTER III
FLIGHT
Brick Willock； galloping toward the Southeast； frequently looked back。
He saw the desperadoes leap upon their horses； wheel about in short
circles that brought the animals upright； then spring forward in pursuit。 He
heard the shouting which； though far away； sounded the unmistakable
accent of ungovernable fury。 In the glaring moonlight； he distinguished
plainly the cloud of dust and sand raised by the horses； which the wind
lifted in white shapes against the deep blue of the sky。 And looking beyond
his pursuers toward the rude cabin where the highwaymen had so long
held their rendezvous； he knew； because no animate forms appeared
against the horizon； that the Kimball brothers lay where he had stretched
them… …one； senseless from the crashing blow on his head； the other；
lifeless from the bullet in his breast。
The little girl and her stepfather had vanished from the smooth open
page of the Texas Panhandleand Brick Willock rejoiced； with a joy new
to him； that these escaped prisoners had not been pursued。 It was himself
that the band meant to subject to their savage vengeance； and himself
alone。 The murder of the child was abhorrent to their hearts which had not
attained the hardened insensibility of their leader's conscience； and they
were willing for the supposed spy to escape； since it spared them the
embarrassment of disposing of the little girl。
But Brick Willock had been one of them and he had killed their leader；
and their leader's brother； or at least had brought them to the verge of
death。 If Red Kimball revived； he would doubtless right his own wrongs；
should Willock live to be punished。 In the meantime； it was for them to
treat with the traitorthis giant of a Texan； huge…whiskered； slow of
speech； who had ever been first to throw himself into the thick of danger
but who had always hung back from deeds of cruelty。 He had plundered
coaches and wagon…trains with them； he had fought with them against
strong bodies of emigrants； he had killed and burnedin the eyes of the
world his deeds made him one of them； and his aspect marked him as the
most dangerous of the band。 But they had always felt the differenceand
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now they meant to kill him not only because he had overpowered their
leader but because of this difference。
As their bullets pursued him； Willock lay along the body of the
broncho； feeling his steed very small； and himself very largeand yet；
despite the rain of lead； his pleasure over the escape of the child warmed
his heart。 The sand was plowed up by his side from the peppering of
bulletsbut he seemed to feel that innocent unconscious arm about his
great neck； the yells of rage were in his ears； but he heard the soft
breathing of the little one fast asleep in the midst of her dangers。
He had selected for himself； and for Gledware； ponies that had often
been run against each other； and which no others of all Red Kimball's
corral could surpass in speed。 Gledware and the child were on the pony
that Kimball had once staked against the swiftest animal the Indians could
produceand Willock rode the pride of the Indian band； which had almost
won the prize。 The ponies had been staked on the issue of that encounter
and the highwaymen had retained； by right of craft and force； what the
government would not permit its wards to barter or sell。
The race was long but always unequal。 The ruffians who had dashed
from the scene of the cabin almost in an even line； scattered and straggled
unevenly； now only two were able to send bullets whistling about
Willock's head； now only one found it possible to cover the distance。 At
last even he fell out of range。 The Indian pony； apparently tireless； shot on
like an arrow driven into the teeth of the wind； sending up behind a cloud
of dust that stretched backward toward the baffled pursuers； a long
wavering ribbon like a clew left to guide the band into the mysterious
depths of the Great American Desert。
When the last of the pursuers found further effort useless； he checked
his horse。 Willock now sat erect on the broncho's bare back； lightly
clasping the halter。 Looking behind； he saw seven horsemen in varying
degrees of remoteness； motionless； doubtless fixing their wolfish eyes on
his fleeing form。 As long as he could distinguish these specks against the
sky； they remained stationary。 To his excited imagination they represented
a living wall drawn up between him and the abode of men。 Should he ever
venture back to that world； he fancied those seven avengers would be
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waiting to receive him with taunts and drawn weapons。
And his conscience told him that the taunts would be merited； for he
had turned traitor； he had failed in the only virtue on which his fellow
criminals prided themselves。 Yes； he was a traitor； and by the only justice
he acknowledged； he deserved to die。 B