A HOT PURSUIT.
It may be said Mont Sterry answered his own question at the moment of
asking it, for, bringing his Winchester to his shoulder, he let fly at
the rustlers, and then with a word and touch of the spur sent Queenie
bounding away with arrowy swiftness.
Unquestionably it was a daring act on his part, but there was wisdom
in it. He knew those men were seeking his life, and would shoot him,
as they had threatened to do, on sight. When they met, it would be a
question simply as to which got the drop on the other.
They were preparing to make a rush at him, and while he had no fear
of a contest of speed between Queenie and any animal that "wore
horse-hair," they were altogether too near at the beginning of the
contest, and the chance of using their rifles was too much against
him.
The crack of the Winchester accompanying his sharp reply, with the
whistle of the bullet about their heads, gave them a momentary shock,
which delayed the pursuit for a few precious seconds.
This was the object of the fugitive, for, while that brief interval
was thrown away by them, he improved it to the utmost. At such crises
a few rods count immensely, and they were made to count on the side of
Mont Sterry.
They were insufficient, however, to take him beyond peril. Men like
those horsemen are quick to recover from a surprise, and it would have
seemed that Sterry was hardly started in his flight when they were
speeding after him. He heard their maledictions and knew that the
struggle for life was on.
Comparatively brief as had been the time spent in the West by Sterry,
he had not neglected his education along the lines indispensable to
those following his manner of living. At the moment of giving Queenie
rein he flung himself forward on her neck, hugging it close and
uttering an involuntary prayer that the bullets might pass harmlessly
by him and his horse.
There were enough of the missiles to kill several men, but the chance
for aiming was so poor that even such fine marksmen as the rustlers
had little chance. The mare was only dimly discernible, and she, like
their own horses, was going at full speed.
Had the sun been shining the result must have been widely different.
The encounter with these men was so unexpected and the several changes
of direction by Queenie so sudden and unavoidable that Sterry was not
given a chance to take his bearings. The one object was to get as far
from them as possible in the quickest time in which it could be done.
When that distance became a safe one it would be soon enough to give
attention to the points of the compass.
Nobly did Queenie do her duty. She had carried her master out of many
a peril, and she could be counted on to do it as long as the ability
remained with her. Sterry's anxiety was really more on her account
than on his own. He knew there was little danger of himself being
struck by the bullets of the rustlers, who, as I have shown, had no
possible chance of taking any sort of aim, but she was a conspicuous
target, which it would seem they ought to hit with little difficulty.
Often must a person in the situation of Sterry leave everything to his
horse. He did not seek to guide Queenie, but sat, or rather lay, in
the saddle and on her neck, as she skimmed like a swallow over the
undulating prairie.
Strange imaginings were in the brain of the young man during those
few minutes. He listened to each shot of the Winchesters, and then,
instead of feeling any apprehension for himself, waited for the
dreaded evidence that his horse had been struck.
The skilful railway engineer, sitting in his cab, with his hand on the
throttle, can discover, on the instant, the slightest disarrangement
in the mass of intricate mechanism over which he holds control. His
highly trained senses enable him to feel it like a flash. So it was
that Mont Sterry would have detected any injury to his horse as
quickly as she herself. No matter if but the abrasion of the skin, the
puncture of the flesh, or the nipping of an ear, she would betray it
involuntarily.
If she were wounded and should fall, the situation of her rider would
be well-nigh hopeless. He could only throw himself behind her body and
have it out with his enemies. Such a defence has been successfully
made many a time by white men against Indians; but Sterry would not
be fighting Crows nor Sioux, but those of his own race and blood, as
brave and skilful as he.
"Thank God!" he murmured, after each shot, as the splendid play of the
machinery under him continued without a break or tremor; "she was not
hit that time. She is running at her best."
Once his heart stood still, for she seemed to quiver through her body,
as if involuntarily shrinking from the prick of a sword.
In his alarm, Sterry rose to an upright posture in the saddle, and
leaning to the right and left, and looking forward and behind him,
searched for the wound. He hardly expected to see it, for it would
have been beyond his sight in any one of a dozen different portions of
the body.
But if in one of the limbs, it would quickly show in the gait of the
animal.
"No," he murmured, "there is no change of pace; it could not have been
much, and it may be she was not hit at all."
The rustlers fired two shots at this moment, when the horseman was
more of a target than his animal, but he gave no heed to that; it was
she for whom he felt concern.
A glance backward brought a thrill of hope. The distance between him
and his pursuers had perceptibly increased. Queenie was showing her
heels to those who dared dispute with her the supremacy of fleetness.
She would soon leave them out of sight, unless it should prove she was
disabled by some of the shots.
All would have gone well but for the appearance of a new danger of
which he did not dream.
Suddenly Queenie emitted her faint, familiar whinny, and swerved to
the left. She had scented a new peril.
In the gloom almost directly ahead loomed the figures of other
horsemen bearing down upon the fugitive. They might be friends, and
they might be enemies, but it would not do to take chances. Without
an instant's hesitation Sterry wheeled to the left and spoke to his
horse:
"Now, Queenie, do your best."
The mare responded with the same gameness she always showed; but the
situation had suddenly become so grave that Monteith Sterry assuredly
would have been overwhelmed and cut off but for one of the most
extraordinary occurrences that ever came to any person in the
extremity of danger.