by Zane Grey
toward the
cabin.
XVII. THE SWOOP OF THE HAWK
"JACK! the saddle's slipping!" cried Mescal, clinging closer to him.
"What luck!" Hare muttered through clinched teeth, and pulled hard on
the bridle. But the mouth of the stallion was iron; regardless of the
sawing bit, he galloped on. Hare called steadily: "Whoa there, Silver!
Whoa--slow now--whoa--easy!" and finally halted him. Hare swung down,
and as he lifted Mescal off, the saddle slipped to the ground.
"Lucky not to get a spill! The girth snapped. It was wet, and dried
out." Hare hurriedly began to repair the break with buckskin thongs that
he found in a saddle-bag.
"Listen! Hear the yells! Oh! hurry!" cried Mescal.
"I've never ridden bareback. Suppose you go ahead with Silver, and I'll
hide in the cedars till dark, then walk home!"
"No--No. There's time, but hurry."
"It's got to be strong," muttered Hare, holding the strap over his knee
and pulling the laced knot with all his strength, "for we'll have to
ride some. If it comes loose--Good-bye!"
Silvermane's broad chest muscles rippled and he stamped restlessly. The
dog whined and looked back. Mescal had the blanket smooth on the gray
when Hare threw the saddle over him. The yells had ceased, but
clattering hoofs on the stony trail were a greater menace. While Hare's
brown hands worked swiftly over buckle and strap Mescal climbed to a
seat behind the saddle.
"Get into the saddle," said Hare, leaping astride and pressing forward
over the pommel. "Slip down--there! and hold to me. Go! Silver!"
The rapid pounding of the stallion's hoofs drowned the clatter coming up
the trail. A backward glance relieved Hare, for dust-clouds some few
hundred yards in the rear showed the position of the pursuing horsemen.
He held in Silvermane to a steady gallop. The trail was up-hill, and
steep enough to wind even a desert racer, if put to his limit.
"Look back!" cried Mescal. "Can you see them? Is Snap with them?"
"I can't see for trees," replied Hare, over his shoulder. "There's dust-
-we're far in the lead--never fear, Mescal. The lead's all we want."
Cedars grew thickly all the way up the steeper part of the divide, and
ended abruptly at a pathway of stone, where the ascent became gradual.
When Silvermane struck out of the grove upon this slope Hare kept
turning keen glances rearward. The dust cloud rolled to the edge of the
cedars, and out of it trooped half-a-dozen horsemen who began to shoot
as soon as they had reached the open. Bullets zipped along the red
stone, cutting little puffs of red dust, and sung through the air.
"Good God!" cried Hare. "They're firing on us! They'd shoot a woman!"
"Has it taken you so long to learn that?"
Hare slashed his steed with the switch. But Silvermane needed no goad or
spur; he had been shot at before, and the whistle of one bullet was
sufficient to stretch his gallop into a run. Then distance between him
and his pursuers grew wider and wider and soon he was out of range. The
yells of the rustlers seemed at first to come from baffled rage, but
Mescal's startled cry showed their meaning. Other horsemen appeared
ahead and to the right of him, tearing down the ridge to the divide.
Evidently they had been returning from the western curve of Coconina.
The direction in which Silvermane was stretching was the only possible
one for Hare. If he swerved off the trail to the left it would be upon
rough rising ground. Not only must he outride this second band to the
point where the trail went down on the other side of the divide, but
also he must get beyond it before they came within rifle range.
"Now! Silver! Go! Go!" Fast as the noble stallion was speeding he
answered to the call. He was in the open now, free of stones and brush,
with the spang of rifles in the air. The wind rushed into Hare's ears,
filling them with a hollow roar; the ground blurred by in reddish
sheets. The horsemen cut down the half mile to a quarter, lessened that,
swept closer and closer, till Hare recognized Chance and Culver, and
Snap Naab on his cream-colored pinto. Seeing that they could not head
the invincible stallion they sheered more to the right. But Silvermane
thundered on, crossing the line ahead of them a full three hundred
yards, and went over the divide, drawing them in behind him.
Then, at the sharp crack of the rifles, leaden messengers whizzed high
in the air over horse and riders, and skipped along the red shale in
front of the running dog.
"Oh--Silvermane!" cried Hare. It was just a call, as if the horse were
human, and knew what that pace meant to his master. The stern business
of the race had ceased to rest on Hare. Silvermane was out to the front!
He was like a level-rushing thunderbolt. Hare felt the instantaneous
pause between his long low leaps, the gather of mighty muscles, the
strain, the tension, then the quivering expulsion of force. It was a
perilous ride down that red slope, not so much from the hissing bullets
as from the washes and gullies which Silvermane sailed over in
magnificent leaps. Hare thrilled with savage delight in the wonderful
prowess of his desert king, in the primal instinct of joy at escaping
with the woman he loved.
"Outrun!" he cried, with blazing eyes. Mescal's white face was pressed
close to his shoulder. "Silver has beaten them. They'll hang on till we
reach the sand-strip, hoping the slow-down will let them come up in
time. But they'll be far too late."
The rustlers continued on the trail, firing desultorily, till Silvermane
so far distanced them that even the necessary lapse into a walk in the
red sand placed him beyond range when they arrived at the strip.
"They've turned back, Mescal. We're safe. Why, you look as you did the
day the bear ran for you."
"I'd rather a bear got me than Snap. Jack, did you see him?"
"See him? Rather! I'll bet he nearly killed his pinto. Mescal, what do
you think of Silvermane now? Can he run? Can he outrun Bolly?"
"Yes--yes. Oh! Jack! how I'll love him! Look back again. Are we safe?
Will we ever be safe?"
It was still daylight when they rounded the portal of the oasis and
entered the lane with the familiar wall on one side, the peeled fence-
pickets on the other. Wolf dashed on ahead, and presently a chorus of
barks announced that he had been met by the other dogs. Silvermane
neighed shrilly, and the horses and mustangs in the corrals trooped
noisily to the lower sides and hung inquisitive heads over the top bars.
A Navajo whom Hare remembered stared with axe idle by the woodpile, then
Judith Naab dropped a bundle of sticks and with a cry of gladness ran
from the house. Before Silvermane had come to a full stop Mescal was
off. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him, then she left
Judith to dart to the corral where a little black mustang had begun to
whistle and stamp and try to climb over the bars.
August Naab, bareheaded, with shaggy locks shaking at every step, strode
off the porch and his great hands lifted Hare from the saddle.
>
"Every day I've watched the river for you," he said. His eyes were warm
and his grasp like a vise.
"Mescal--child!" he continued, as she came running to him. "Safe and
well. He's brought you back. Thank the Lord!" He took her to his breast
and bent his gray head over her.
Then the crowd of big and little Naabs burst from the house and came
under the cottonwoods to offer noisy welcome to Mescal and Hare.
"Jack, you look done up," said Dave Naab solicitously, when the first
greetings had been spoken, and Mother Ruth had led Mescal indoors.
"Silvermane, too--he's wet and winded. He's been running?"
"Yes, a little," replied Hare, as he removed the
