The man applied the spurs and whip, and his horse galloped along swiftly, making the dirt and stones fly far behind him.
On they flew, swifter and swifter. Like an arrow they shot by the road where Carlos had turned. It was well that the latter adopted this ruse, or he would inevitably have been overtaken, for his pursuer’s horse was a fleet one.
Soon the rider began to grow uneasy.
“I should have come up with him by this time,” he thought. “There’s no horse in the Dalton livery-stable that mine ought not to have run down before this.”
He strained his eyes to look ahead, but the gathering clouds prevented him from discerning objects at any distance. Then he halted and listened. A faint rumbling of wheels greeted his ear, but it was not sufficiently distinct for him to determine from what direction it came. He concluded that it must be toward the village, and again lashed his horse and urged him ahead.
HE STRAINED HIS EYES TO LOOK AHEAD, BUT COULD NOT DISCERN OBJECTS AT ANY DISTANCE.
As he entered the streets of Dalton he began to feel a misgiving that he had been outwitted. But not a single chance must be cast aside, and he neither turned nor slackened his pace. Down the main thoroughfare, and around the corner of a street which led to the livery-stable, he proceeded, and there he saw a horse trotting briskly along, drawing a buggy containing a single occupant.
“Ha! my man,” he thought, “you’re too sure! You thought you were so far ahead that I couldn’t come up with you, but I’ll show you in a moment your mistake!”
Speaking a word to his horse, he dashed on with renewed speed, and was soon but a rod or two behind the buggy. He thought it strange that his approach was apparently not noticed, that there was no attempt to distance him, or avoid him in any way. He whom he supposed to be Carlos Conrad simply looked around once, and then drove on, neither slackening nor increasing his speed.