To his
maddened brain it occurred that the current of the arroyo might by this
have somewhat abated. He might now make his way across it. So he halted
once more on the bank at the point where the stream doubled back on its
course and once more, in an agony, studied the force of the current. It
seemed so placid at the first glance that he was on the verge of
spurring the horse into the wide, brown stream, but even as he loosened
the reins a gap opened in the middle of the water, widened, whirling at
the brim, and drew swiftly into a fierce vortex with a black, deep
bottom. Mac Strann tightened his reins again, and then turned his horse,
and waited.
Back the veriest coward against the wall and he becomes formidable, and
Mac Strann was one who had never feared before either man or beast or
the powers of the storm. Even now he dreaded no reality, but there dwelt
in his mind the memory of how Dan Barry had glared at him in the Gilead
Saloon, and how a flicker of yellow light had glowed in the man's
eyes--a strange and phosphorescent glimmer that might be seen in the
darkness of night. When he turned the head of his horse away from the
arroyo, he waited as one waits for the coming of a ghost. There was the
same chill tingling in his blood.
Now the blanket of rain lifted and shook away to comparative
clearness--lifted, and for the first time he could look far away across
the plains. Nothing but grey, rain-washed desert met his eyes, and then
the whistling broke once more upon him at the crest of a thrilling run.
Pages:
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326