His men whirled after him, but strange turn of destiny, they swung directly north away from him, for he was turning south at the town’s edge.
“For the––Wall!” breathed Lola, her face like milk, one hand on her glittering breast. “He––goes––for below!”
Then all the watchers knew the same.
The master of the Stronghold, having played for Lost Valley and for a woman and lost them both––was done with both.
He leaned on the Ironwood’s mighty neck and went south toward the Bottle Neck.
All eyes were upon him––all, that is, save the earnest grey ones of Billy Brent. They were fixed in anguish on the face of Tharon Last beside him––Tharon Last, who shoved the gun-butts hard down in the holsters at her hips, who whirled on her booted heel, who cleared the space between her and El Rey in three cat-like leaps.
As she went up the stallion rose with her, came down with a pounding of iron-shod hoofs, dropped his huge hips in the first leap––and was away.
Corvan saw the silver horse shoot out from its midst and woke from its lethargy. 286
“Th’ race!” some one cried, high and shrill, “th’ race at last!”
The two strangers saw it, and their lips fell open with amaze.