"I'll have to go back," Pete said, mournfully. "But I hope they catch that skunk!"
It was the meanest name he could think of to call Len Molick.
The chase was resumed. Pete's accident had cost Dave and his companion some precious moments and they had lost distance. But they felt that, eventually, they must win. For their horses were fresher than was the mount of the youth who had set the fire, and already they had appreciably lessened the distance between them.
Len's horse had shown a wonderful burst of speed at first, and he had secured a quick start.
"But it won't do him any good," said Dave. "We'll have him ridden down in ten minutes more."
"I hope so," murmured Mr. Bellmore, "Why. Can't Kurd stand it?"
"Oh, yes, but I'm afraid I can't. This is more riding than I've done since
I had my accident, and my ankle is paining me."
"Say, you drop out," Dave urged him. "I can manage Len all right."
"Indeed I'll not drop out! I'm going to stay in to the finish, but I'll be glad when it comes. This Western life is, indeed, rough and ready, Dave."
"Then you're not a Westerner by birth?"