“Traitor!” repeated Bob and then pulled his horse’s head around and struck hard with his quirt. In a flash his little horse was flying in the direction of home. It was a desperate chance he was taking, for he had read in the faces of the two men as he turned that they were determined that he should not get back to the dam with his suspicions confirmed. He knew that in running he braved possible death, for he had noticed that both men were armed. The sound of his horse’s hoofs and the rushing wind drowned the noise that would have told him whether he was being pursued or not. He was bending low in the saddle and it was hard to turn and see what had become of Jerry and his companions. But he managed it.,
“Don’t know much about it, to tell you the truth. All the boatin’ I’ve done was in a flat bottomed scow I had up to the last flood. The high water swiped it on me and I reckon the Mexicans have got it by now,” he grinned. “I felt pretty sore about losing it, but my Dad figured it was good business. Said I spent too much time on the river anyhow; that I ought to be out riding range for him.”,
Stumbling, panting, he ran around the corner of the hut, urged by the knowledge that he was afire. Luckily the river nearly touched the back wall of the hut that had been his prison. A few steps and he fell face downward in the shallows..
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