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nto a run。
〃Now； Wrangle！〃 cried Venters。 〃Run； you big devil！ Run！〃
Venters laid the reins on Wrangle's neck and dropped the loop over the pommel。 The sorrel needed no guiding on that smooth trail。 He was surer…footed in a run than at any other fast gait； and his running gave the impression of something devilish。 He might now have been actuated by Venters's spirit； undoubtedly his savage running fitted the mood of his rider。 Venters bent forward swinging with the horse； and gripped his rifle。 His eye measured the distance between him and Jerry Card。
In less than two miles of running Bells began to drop behind the blacks； and Wrangle began to overhaul him。 Venters anticipated that the rustler would soon take to the sage。 Yet he did not。 Not improbably he reasoned that the powerful sorrel could more easily overtake Bells in the heavier going outside of the trail。 Soon only a few hundred yards lay between Bells and Wrangle。 Turning in his saddle； the rustler began to shoot； and the bullets beat up little whiffs of dust。 Venters raised his rifle； ready to take snap shots； and waited for favorable opportunity when Bells was out of line with the forward horses。 Venters had it in him to kill these men as if they were skunk…bitten coyotes； but also he had restraint enough to keep from shooting one of Jane's beloved Arabians。
No great distance was covered； however； before Bells swerved to the left； out of line with Black Star and Night。 Then Venters； aiming high and waiting for the pause between Wrangle's great strides； began to take snap shots at the rustler。 The fleeing rider presented a broad target for a rifle； but he was moving swiftly forward and bobbing up and down。 Moreover； shooting from Wrangle's back was shooting from a thunderbolt。 And added to that was the danger of a low…placed bullet taking effect on Bells。 Yet； despite these considerations； making the shot exceedingly difficult； Venters's confidence； like his implacability； saw a speedy and fatal termination of that rustler's race。 On the sixth 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 suff