Tom felt his knee jammed against a mustang’s side—another had overtaken him. Yes, the gap had at last closed up—he was surrounded on every side by that living wall. And whatever dangers might lie ahead were concealed by the gray sheets of driving rain.
“Old boy!” he exclaimed, almost calmly, “if you stumble now it’s good-night.”
Over the rolling prairie floor at scarcely slackening speed dashed the herd. Tom found himself being forced nearer and nearer the center. His pony, sometimes almost lifted off his feet, fought desperately. He probably knew as well as his rider that a fall would mean the snuffing out of his life in a twinkling by the flying hoofs.
The Rambler had lost all idea of direction, or how far they had gone. The excitement of the previous moments now gave place to a dull calm, which quieted the rapid beating of his heart. His thoughts were mostly centered on one thing—should his horse stumble he must be prepared to fling himself boldly upon the back of the pony nearest at hand.
Wedged in tightly, he watched and waited for the critical moment, while mile after mile swept by. Great patches of underbrush, and tall grasses over which the wild horses ran were torn to pieces and flattened as though devastated by a cyclone.
As time passed and nothing happened, Tom felt his hopes returning. No animals, he reflected, could keep up that mad pace much longer. Already there was plenty of evidence to show that the animals were tiring. Some seemed to be straggling out on the sides. The frowning lines on his forehead lessened. The still howling storm again began to occupy a much larger place in his thoughts.
Then he saw looming up just ahead a rather steep hill. Over this his almost exhausted pony must climb. When the slope had been reached, the pace was checked. Up, up, they staggered. Mustangs floundered and stumbled in the soft, slippery earth. It was hard work, his pony seemed ready to drop. Was the moment at hand when he must succumb?
Tom Clifton sat tense, alert, ready to act. He even picked out the wild mustang, the back of which should feel his weight in case the necessity arose.
But now he could see the top of the ridge rising right before him.
“Go it, old chap! Go it,” he encouraged him, desperately. “You’ll make it yet! Steady, boy, steady! Ah, good for you!”