Owen glanced behind—the man was gaining on him.
The boy leaned far over on the horse's neck, stroked his mane and said: "Go on, Hickory! don't let him catch us, go on! go on!"
"Say! youngster! If you don't stop there, I'll thrash you when I catch you!" cried the angered pursuer.
"But you won't catch me," thought Owen, for Hickory was now gaining a little, and his young rider knew that he was no mean runner.
The man was evidently not prepared for a long race; he beat his horse cruelly, urging the poor animal on at its utmost speed. Again Owen looked behind—again the man was gaining on him.
He saw that his pursuer was making one mighty effort to overtake him; he plunged his spur deep into the side of his faithful beast. The enraged animal sprang forward: The race was nearly even for a full quarter of a mile. Now Owen gained, and now the angry man behind. Hickory slipped and nearly fell in the soft, muddy road. The man yelled in triumph, gaining twenty yards in a few minutes. Then Hickory was on again—Owen slowly recovered lost ground. The man shouted to frighten him—this, however, had the effect of making him goad his horse the more. He saw the man gradually drop behind, and then abandon the unequal race. Owen pushed on briskly for about a mile, when he too paused to give the horse a much needed rest.
Eight miles of the road still remained to be traveled, and as Owen now felt secure he proceeded slowly, occasionally looking behind to see whether or not the man would continue the pursuit. He had gone about another mile, when to his astonishment the man reappeared riding another horse. Could Hickory stand the race for seven miles? Owen doubted, yet he resolved to save the message or kill the horse. The man on his part regarded the result as only a matter of time, for his horse was fresh, and would sooner or later overtake the wearied animal which he followed.
On went the boy, on came the man. On, on they rode, past the farm houses by the wayside, past the fallow fields and leafless woods which seemed to take wings and fly behind. On, on they sped, now darting down some rough, steep hill, now clambering up the rocky ascent on the opposite side. A settler, cutting wood close to the road, heard the clatter of hoofs, and, dropping his axe, watched with bated breath the onward rush of the boy and man. Little did he dream that the boy was carrying a message of victory and peace; that the man was a veritable Arnold in the hatred of his country. Yet the settler's sympathies were with the boy. He admired, too, the youth's superior horsemanship. How gallantly he bestrode his horse. "Go it, my lad, go it!" he shouted. "You're a fine rider, and I reckon you'll win." On, on they plunged, the boy and man, and the settler was far behind. Another farm house was reached. In front of it a country urchin was swinging on a gate. He climbed to the top of the gate-post to view the race, laughed with delight as he saw the sparks struck from the stony road, and waved his ragged hat in boisterous glee. Past him they fled. A few minutes later, and the urchin was far behind.
But soon old Hickory began to lag. Yard by yard the man drew closer to the boy. Owen saw plainly that the race was over.
"Back! stop there!" cried he, at the same time drawing his pistol. But the man came on.