Billy Gee headed straight for the Huntington ranch. His wiry little horse, trained to just such desperate get-aways as this, swept over the ground like the wind. Dot, her small hands clenched, her face flushing and paling by turns with what Lex believed was anxiety, watched the pursuit in silence. Now and again, through a rift in the cloud of dust, she caught sight of the lone rider. He sat his horse with the grace of a fleeing centaur, and she noticed that he was outdistancing his pursuers by degrees—saving his own animal, she thought. Once she saw him rise in his stirrups and wave his hat. She wrenched a white scarf she wore around her neck and waved back. After that, he kept gaining and gaining rapidly.
“What a wonderful horse!” exclaimed Lex, breaking a long silence. “Look! He’s gone past the ranch. They’ve given up. See? They’ve stopped. I’ve never seen such a remarkable exhibition of pluck in all my life, Miss Huntington. He’s an extraordinary bandit.”
Billy Gee, half a mile in the lead of the cavalcade, flashed by the Huntington gate. His mother and Tinnemaha Pete had witnessed the race. They stood just inside the fence, trembling, breathless.
“Jerome, my darling!” cried Mrs. Liggs wildly.
“I’m all right, honey,” Billy Gee called back, throwing her a smile. “I’ve headed Huntington for Blue Mud Spring. Dot an’ Sangerly got by. See you soon.”
“The sheriff—look out for that pesky critter, Warburton!” shrilled Tinnemaha Pete. “He’s lookin’ for you. Pop it to him, d’you hear! Pop it to him——”
“Jerome—the sheriff!” screamed Mrs. Liggs.
Billy Gee, out of hearing, nodded reassuringly, wondering what they had said.
A quarter of a mile beyond the ranch, he pulled his horse down to a walk. Pursuit had been abandoned. He laughed, sitting sidelong in the saddle, gazing back. Suddenly, as if in his very ear, a man’s voice rang out, saying:
“I got a bead on yore heart, Billy. Don’t look around. I don’t want to have to kill you, Billy.”