She had covered scarcely a dozen yards over the rough ground when a hoarse shout of surprise came from Lynch, followed by the clatter of rolling stones as he plunged back down the hill. But she did not turn her head; there was no time or need. Running 325 as she had never run before, she rounded the spur and with a gasp of dismay saw that the cliffs curved back abruptly, forming an intervening open space that seemed to extend for miles, but which, in reality, was only a few hundred yards across.
Still she did not halt, but sped on gamely, heading for the mouth of the nearest gully. Presently the thud of hoofs terrified her, but stung her to even greater effort. Nearer the hoofs-beats came, and nearer still. Breathless, panting, she knew now she could never reach the gully. The realization sent her heart sinking like a lead plummet, but fear drove her blindly on. Suddenly the bulk of a horse loomed beside her and a man’s easy, sneering laugh bit into her soul like vitriol. An instant later Lynch leaped from his saddle and caught her around the waist.
“Yuh would, would yuh?” he cried, gazing down into her flushed, frightened face. “Tried to shake me, eh?”
For a moment he held her thus, devouring her with his eyes, holding the bridles of both horses in his free hand. Then all at once he laughed again, hatefully, and crushing her to him, he kissed her, roughly, savagely—kissed her repeatedly on the lips and cheeks and throat.
Mary cried out once and tried to struggle. Then of a sudden her muscles relaxed and she lay limply in his arms, eyes closed, wishing that she might die, or, 326 better yet, that some supreme force would suddenly strike the creature dead.
How long she lay there shuddering with disgust and loathing, she did not know. It seemed an eternity before she realized that his lips no longer touched her, and opening her eyes she was startled at the sight of his face.
It was partly turned away from her as he stared southward across the flats. His eyes were wide, incredulous, and filled with a mingling of anger and dismay. In another moment he jerked her roughly to her feet, dragged her around to the side of her horse, and fairly flung her into the saddle. Vaulting into his own, he spurred the beast savagely and rode back toward the out-thrust spur at a gallop, dragging the unwilling Freckles with him.
Gripping the saddle-horn to keep her precarious seat, Mary yet found time for a hurried backward glance before she was whisked out of sight of that wide stretch of open country to the south. But that glance was enough to make her heart leap. Dots—moving dots which she had no difficulty in recognizing as horsemen—were sweeping northward along the edge of the breaks. Who they were she neither knew nor cared. It was enough that they were men. Her eyes sparkled, and a wild new hope flamed up within her, even though she was being carried swiftly away from them. 327
Once in the shelter of the spur, Lynch did not halt but rode on at full speed, heading northward. For half a mile or so the thudding hoof-beats of the two horses alone broke the silence. Then, as their advance opened up a fresh sweep of country, Lynch jerked his mount to a standstill with a suddenness that raised a cloud of dust about them.
“Hell!” he rasped, staring from under narrowing lids.