“They’ll get there ahead of me!”
He saw they must, and his mind was quickly made up on the course he would pursue.
“Don’t know what kind of a hurdle horse you are, old fellow,” he said; “but I’m going to try some cross-country riding with you.”
He swung out of the road, aimed at the fence, and the black rose to the touch, clearing the rails like a flying bird.
Then a cheer broke from Merry’s lips.
It was answered by shouts from the three men, who now saw him. They whipped their horses along the road as fast as possible, trying to cut him off.
Of course, the ground was not firm beneath the feet of the black horse, and it did seem for a time that Merriwell might be intercepted. But he reached the road in advance of the trio of pursuers, the black again clearing the fence beautifully.
“Stop!” roared the sheriff. “Stop, I tell you!”
“Can’t,” Frank called back. “I’m in a great hurry. Sorry I can’t jog along with you. Ta, ta!”
He waved his hand tauntingly, turning in the saddle to do so.