It was an insult that stung the fugitive to hot rage.
Snake-fences, copses, and fields swept past on either hand. The roan was well in his mile-eating stride, and thus far showed no sign of distress at the fearful strain put upon him. Yard by yard, he was pulling away from the four laboring steeds that thundered along in his dusty wake.
The by-road, at an acute angle, met and merged with the highway.
Here was added danger of meeting foes. But there was no other course to take.
And into the yellow highway Dad guided the fleeing roan. As he did so he rose in his stirrups and peered forward, the sharp, old eyes scanning the broad ribbon of road for a full three miles ahead.
The next moment he had brought his horse to a mercilessly quick and sliding standstill that well-nigh threw the gallant beast off balance. Directly in front hung a dust-cloud seemingly no larger than a man’s hand.
CHAPTER XI
DEVIL AND DEEP SEA
THE campaigner instinct told Dad what raised so odd a cloud on the dry dust of the road. From its position and formation, he knew it hung above a cavalry column of considerable size.
A glance at the road at his feet showed him that no such large body of horsemen had passed during the past two hours. The column, then, was coming toward him.
And between him and it lay no crossroad.