She could not know that, in the same
instant, as his horse plunged down from the summit of the ridge, Patches
had recognized her; and that as his hand swung the riata with such cool
and deliberate precision, the man was praying--praying as only a man who
sees the woman he loves facing a dreadful death, with no hand but his to
save her, could pray.
God help him if his training of nerve and hand should fail now! Christ
pity him, if that whirling loop should miss its mark, or fall short!
His eye told him that the distance was still too great. He must--he
_must_--lessen it; and again his spurs drew blood. He must be cool--cool
and steady and sure--and he must act now--NOW!
Helen saw the racing horse make a desperate leap as the spurs tore his
heaving sides; she saw that swiftly whirling loop leave the rider's
hand, as the man leaned forward in his saddle. Curiously she watched the
loop open with beautiful precision, as the coils were loosed and the
long, thin line lengthened through the air. It seemed to move so
slowly--those wickedly lowered horns were so near! Then she saw the
rider's right hand move with flashlike quickness to the saddle horn, as
he threw his weight back, and the horse, with legs braced and hoofs
plowing the ground, stopped in half his own length, and set his weight
against the weight of the steer.
Pages:
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324