riders of the purple sage-第42部分

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h　shot　the　rustler　threw　up　his　arms　and　took　a　flying　tumble　off　his　horse。　He　rolled　over　and　over；　hunched　himself　to　a　half…erect　position；　fell；　and　then　dragged　himself　into　the　sage。　As　Venters　went　thundering　by　he　peered　keenly　into　the　sage；　but　caught　no　sign　of　the　man。　Bells　ran　a　few　hundred　yards；　slowed　up；　and　had　stopped　when　Wrangle　passed　him。

Again　Venters　began　slipping　fresh　cartridges　into　the　magazine　of　his　rifle；　and　his　hand　was　so　sure　and　steady　that　he　did　not　drop　a　single　cartridge。　With　the　eye　of　a　rider　and　the　judgment　of　a　marksman　he　once　more　measured　the　distance　between　him　and　Jerry　Card。　Wrangle　had　gained；　bringing　him　into　rifle　range。　Venters　was　hard　put　to　it　now　not　to　shoot；　but　thought　it　better　to　withhold　his　fire。　Jerry；　who；　in　anticipation　of　a　running　fusillade；　had　huddled　himself　into　a　little　twisted　ball　on　Black　Star's　neck；　now　surmising　that　this　pursuer　would　make　sure　of　not　wounding　one　of　the　blacks；　rose　to　his　natural　seat　in　the　saddle。

In　his　mind　perhaps；　as　certainly　as　in　Venters's；　this　moment　was　the　beginning　of　the　real　race。

Venters　leaned　forward　to　put　his　hand　on　Wrangle's　neck；　then　backward　to　put　it　on　his　flank。　Under　the　shaggy；　dusty　hair　trembled　and　vibrated　and　rippled　a　wonderful　muscular　activity。　But　Wrangle's　flesh　was　still　cold。　What　a　cold…blooded　brute　thought　Venters；　and　felt　in　him　a　love　for　the　horse　he　had　never　given　to　any　other。　It　would　not　have　been　humanly　possible　for　any　rider；　even　though　clutched　by　hate　or　revenge　or　a　passion　to　save　a　loved　one　or　fear　of　his　own　life；　to　be　astride　the　sorrel　to　swing　with　his　swing；　to　see　his　magnificent　stride　and　hear　the　rapid　thunder　of　his　hoofs；　to　ride　him　in　that　race　and　not　glory　in　the　ride。

So；　with　his　passion　to　kill　still　keen　and　unabated；　Venters　lived　out　that　ride；　and　drank　a　rider's　sage…sweet　cup　of　wildness　to　the　dregs。

When　Wrangle's　long　mane；　lashing　in　the　wind；　stung　Venters　in　the　cheek；　the　sting　added　a　beat　to　his　flying　pulse。　He　bent　a　downward　glance　to　try　to　see　Wrangle's　actual　stride；　and　saw　only　twinkling；　darting　streaks　and　the　white　rush　of　the　trail。　He　watched　the　sorrel's　savage　head；　pointed　level；　his　mouth　still　closed　and　dry；　but　his　nostrils　distended　as　if　he　were　snorting　unseen　fire。　Wrangle　was　the　horse　for　a　race　with　death。　Upon　each　side　Venters　saw　the　sage　merged　into　a　sailing；　colorless　wall。　In　front　sloped　the　lay　of　ground　with　its　purple　breadth　split　by　the　white　trail。　The　wind；　blowing　with　heavy；　steady　blast　into　his　face；　sickened　him　with　enduring；　sweet　odor；　and　filled　his　ears　with　a　hollow；　rushing　roar。

Then　for　the　hundredth　time　he　measured　the　width　of　space　separating　him　from　Jerry　Card。　Wrangle　had　ceased　to　gain。　The　blacks　were　proving　their　fleetness。　Venters　watched　Jerry　Card；　admiring　the　little　rider's　horsemanship。　He　had　the　incomparable　seat　of　the　upland　rider；　born　in　the　saddle。　It　struck　Venters　that　Card　had　changed　his　position；　or　the　position　of　the　horses。　Presently　Venters　remembered　positively　that　Jerry　had　been　leading　Night　on　the　right…hand　side　of　the　trail。　The　racer　was　now　on　the　side　to　the　left。　Noit　was　Black　Star。　But；　Venters　argued　in　amaze；　Jerry　had　been　mounted　on　Black　Star。　Another　clearer；　keener　gaze　assured　Venters　that　Black　Star　was　really　riderless。　Night　now　carried　Jerry　Card。

〃He's　changed　from　one　to　the　other！〃　ejaculated　Venters；　realizing　the　astounding　feat　with　unstinted　admiration。　〃Changed　at　full　speed！　Jerry　Card；　that's　what　you've　done　unless　I'm　drunk　on　the　smell　of　sage。　But　I've　got　to　see　the　trick　before　I　believe　it。〃

Thenceforth；　while　Wrangle　sped　on；　Venters　glued　his　eyes　to　the　little　rider。　Jerry　Card　rode　as　only　he　could　ride。　Of　all　the　daring　horsemen　of　the　uplands；　Jerry　was　the　one　rider　fitted　to　bring　out　the　greatness　of　the　blacks　in　that　long　race。　He　had　them　on　a　dead　run；　but　not　yet　at　the　last　strained　and　killing　pace。　From　time　to　time　he　glanced　backward；　as　a　wise　general　in　retreat　calculating　his　chances　and　the　power　and　speed　of　pursuers；　and　the　moment　for　the　last　desperate　burst。　No　doubt；　Card；　with　his　life　at　stake；　gloried　in　that　race；　perhaps　more　wildly　than　Venters。　For　he　had　been　born　to　the　sage　and　the　saddle　and　the　wild。　He　was　more　than　half　horse。　Not　until　the　last　callthe　sudden　up…flashing　instinct　of　self…preservationwould　he　lose　his　skill　and　judgment　and　nerve　and　the　spirit　of　that　race。　Venters　seemed　to　read　Jerry's　mind。　That　little　crime…stained　rider　was　actually　thinking　of　his　horses；　husbanding　their　speed；　handling　them　with　knowledge　of　years；　glorying　in　their　beautiful；　swift；　racing　stride；　and　wanting　them　to　win　the　race　when　his　own　life　hung　suspended　in　quivering　balance。　Again　Jerry　whirled　in　his　saddle　and　the　sun　flashed　red　on　his　face。　Turning；　he　drew　Black　Star　closer　and　closer　toward　Night；　till　they　ran　side　by　side；　as　one　horse。　Then　Card　raised　himself　in　the　saddle；　slipped　out　of　the　stirrups；　and；　somehow　twisting　himself；　leaped　upon　Black　Star。　He　did　not　even　lose　the　swing　of　the　horse。　Like　a　leech　he　was　there　in　the　other　saddle；　and　as　the　horses　separated；　his　right　foot；　that　had　been　apparently　doubled　under　him；　shot　down　to　catch　the　stirrup。　The　grace　and　dexterity　and　daring　of　that　rider's　act　won　something　more　than　admiration　from　Venters。　For　the　distance　of　a　mile　Jerry　rode　Black　Star　and　then　changed　back　to　Night。　But　all　Jerry's　skill　and　the　running　of　the　blacks　could　avail　little　more　against　the　sorrel。

Venters　peered　far　ahead；　studying　the　lay　of　the　land。　Straightaway　for　five　miles　the　trail　stretched；　and　then　it　disappeared　in　hummocky　ground。　To　the　right；　some　few　rods；　Venters　saw　a　break　in　the　sage；　and　this　was　the　rim　of　Deception　Pass。　Across　the　dark　cleft　gleamed　the　red　of　the　opposite　wall。　Venters　imagined　that　the　trail　went　down　into　the　Pass　somewhere　north　of　those　ridges。　And　he　realized　that　he　must　and　would　overtake　Jerry　Card　in　this　straight　course　of　five　miles。

Cruelly　he　struck　his　spurs　into　Wrangle's　flanks。　A　light　touch　of　spur　was　sufficient　to　make　Wrangle　plunge。　And　now；　with　a　ringing；　wild　snort；　he　seemed　to　double　up　in　muscular　convulsions　and　to　shoot　forward　with　an　impetus　that　almost　unseated　Venters。　The　sage　blurred　by；　the　trail　flashed　by；　and　the　wind　robbed　him　of　breath　and　hearing。　Jerry　Card　turned　once　more。　And　the　way　he　shifted　to　Black　Star　showed　he　had　to　make　his　last　desperate　running。　Venters　aimed　to　the　side　of　the　trail　and　sent　a　bullet　puffing　the　dust　beyond　Jerry。　Venters　hoped　to　frighten　the　rider　and　get　him　to　take　to　the　sage。　But　Jerry　returned　the　shot；　and　his　ball　struck　dangerously　close　in　the　dust　at　Wrangle's　flying　feet。　Venters　held　his　fire　then；　while　the　rider　emptied　his　revolver。　For　a　mile；　with　Black　Star　leaving　Night　behind　and　doing　his　utmost；　Wrangle　did　not　gain；　for　another　mile　he　gained　little；　if　at　all。　In　the　third　he　caught　up　with　the　now　galloping　Night　and　began　to　gain　rapidly　on　the　other　black。

Only　a　hundred　yards　now　stretched　between　Black　Star　and　Wrangle。　The　giant　sorrel　thundered　onand　onand　on。　In　every　yard　he　gained　a　foot。　He　was　whistling　through　his　nostrils；　wringing　wet；　flying　lather；　and　as　hot　as　fire。　Savage　as　ever；　strong　as　ever；　fast　as　ever；　but　each　tremendous　stride　jarred　Venters　out　of　the　saddle！　Wrangle's　power　and　spirit　and　momentum　had　begun　to　run　him　off　his　legs。　Wrangle's　great　race　was　nearly　wonand　run。　Venters　seemed　to　see　the　expanse　before　him　as　a　vast；　sheeted；　purple　plain　sliding　under　him。　Black　Star　moved　in　it　as　a　blur。　The　rider；　Jerry　Card；　appeared　a　mere　dot　bobbing　dimly。　Wrangle　thundered　ononon！　Venters　felt　the　increase　in　quivering；　straining　shock　after　every　leap。　Flecks　of　foam　flew　into　Venters's　eyes；　burning　him；　making　him　see　all　the　sage　as　red。　But　in　that　red　haze　he　saw；　or　seemed　to　see；　Black　Star　suddenly　riderless　and　with　broken　gait。　Wrangle　thundered　on　to　change　his　pace　with　a　violent　break。　Then　Venters　pulled　him　hard。　From　run　to　gallop；　gallop　to　canter；　canter　to　trot；　trot　to　walk；　and　walk　to　stop；　the　great　sorrel　ended　his　race。

Venters　looked　back。　Black　Star　stood　riderless　in　the　trail。　Jerry　Card　had　taken　to　the　sage。　Far　up　the　white　trail　Night　came　trotting　faithfully　down。　Venters　leaped　off；　still　half　blind；　reeling　dizzily。　In　a　moment　he　had　recovered　sufficiently　to　have　a　care　for　Wrangle。　Rapidly　he　took　off　the　saddle　and　bridle。　The　sorrel　was　reeking；　heaving；　whistling；　shaking。　But　he　had　still　the　strength　to　stand；　and　for　him　Venters　had　no　fears。

As　Venters　ran　back　to　Black　Star　he　saw　the　horse　stagger　on　shaking　legs　into　the　sage　and　go　down　in　a　heap。　Upon　reaching　him　Venters　removed　the　saddle　and　bridle。　Black　Star　had　been　killed　on　his　legs；　Venters　thought。　He　had　no　hope　for　the　stricken　horse。　Black　Star　lay　flat；　covered　with　bloody　froth；　mouth　wide；　tongue　hanging；　eyes　glaring；　and　all　his　beautiful　body　in　convulsions。

Unable　to　stay　there　to　see　Jane's　favorite　racer　die；　Venters　hurried　up　the　trail　to　meet　the　other　black。　On　the　way　he　kept　a　sharp　lookout　for　Jerry　Card。　Venters　imagined　the　rider　would　keep　well　out　of　range　of　the　rifle；　but；　as　he　would　be　lost　on　the　sage　without　a　horse；　not　improbably　he　would　linger　in　the　vicinity　on　the　chance　of　getting　back　one　of　the　blacks。　Night　soon　came　trotting　up；　hot　and　wet　and　run　out。　Venters　led　him　down　near　the　others；　and　unsaddling　him；　let　him　loose　to　rest。　Night　wearily　lay　down　in　the　dust　and　rolled；　proving　himself　not　yet　spent。

Then　Venters　sat　down　to　rest　and　think。　Whatever　the　risk；　he　was　compelled　to　stay　where　he　was；　or　comparatively　near；　for　the　night。　The　horses　must　rest　and　drink。　He　must　find　water。　He　was　now　seventy　miles　from　Cottonwoods；　and；　he　believed；　close　to　the　canyon　where　the　cattle　trail　must　surely　turn　off　and　go　down　into　the　Pass。　After　a　while　he　rose　to　survey　the　valley。

He　was　very　near　to　the　ragged　edge　of　a　deep　canyon　into　which　the　trail　turned。　The　ground　lay　in　uneven　ridges　divided　by　washes；　and　these　sloped