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Her
speed
tells
a
different
tale
;
produced
though
it
be
by
the
strangest
of
spurs
--
the
keen
blade
of
a
bowie-knife
.
It
is
Zeb
Stump
who
makes
use
of
this
quaint
,
but
cruel
,
means
of
persuasion
.
Still
the
old
mare
can
not
keep
pace
with
the
magnificent
stallion
of
the
mustanger
.
Nor
does
Zeb
expect
it
.
He
but
aims
at
holding
the
latter
in
sight
;
and
in
this
he
is
so
far
successful
.
There
is
yet
another
who
beholds
the
blood-bay
making
his
vigorous
bounds
.
He
beholds
him
with
"
beard
upon
the
shoulder
.
"
It
is
he
who
is
pursued
.
Just
as
he
has
begun
to
feel
hopeful
of
escape
,
Calhoun
,
looking
back
,
catches
sight
of
the
red
stallion
;
no
longer
with
that
strange
shape
upon
his
back
,
but
one
as
well
recognised
,
and
to
him
even
more
terrible
.
He
perceives
it
to
be
Maurice
,
the
mustanger
--
the
man
he
would
have
devoted
--
was
so
near
devoting
--
to
the
most
disgraceful
of
deaths
!
He
sees
this
man
coming
after
--
his
own
conscience
tells
him
--
as
an
avenger
!
Is
it
the
hand
of
God
that
directs
this
enemy
on
his
track
?
He
trembles
as
he
asks
himself
the
question
.
From
any
other
pursuer
there
might
have
been
a
chance
of
escaping
.
There
is
none
from
Maurice
Gerald
!
A
cold
shiver
runs
through
the
frame
of
the
fugitive
.
He
feels
as
if
he
were
fighting
against
Fate
;
and
that
it
is
idle
to
continue
the
contest
!
He
sits
despairingly
in
his
saddle
;
scarce
caring
to
ply
the
spur
;
no
longer
believing
that
speed
can
avail
him
!
