peared considerate only of himself. Crouching
in his saddle, apparently mindful of but a single
thing -- escape -- he lashed his horse brutally, swinging
his quirt rhythmically, now and again darting
cold eyes backward. Johnson, given by nature
to bravado and bluster, was even more defiant in
this supreme moment. He rode with a plug of
tobacco in hand, biting off huge pieces frequently,
more frequently squirting brown juices between
lips white as the telltale ring around his mouth-a
ring as expressive as the hollows beneath his
glittering eyes. And Jim, ever worried, ever conscious
of himself, sat in his saddle easily, now that
he was about to reap the harvest of his ill-sown
seeds, riding with, eyes on the horse alongside -- ?
Pat -- studying with coolly critical gaze the animal's
smoothness of gait, wonderful carriage of
head, unusual and beautiful lifting of forelegs.
Thus, in this valley of the shadow, each was his
true self and something more, or less, as the
chaotic spirit within viewed the immediate future
or scanned the distant past.

Another shot from the posse -- a screaming bullet
high overhead -- a command to stop! But they
did not stop. Instead, Johnson, rising in his stirrups,
unholstered a huge revolver and fired point-blank
at the rangers. It was the wrong thing to
do, and instantly Jim drew away from the leader.
This left a clear gap between, and exposed the
speeding Glover ahead to fire from the rear. And
suddenly it came, a volley of rifle-shots, and
Glover, stiffening suddenly, was seen to clutch at

[[202]]

p201 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p202w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p203

v?