If the end came, at least he was sure to die in the
saddle. Vaguely he was aware as he looked around that the black hills
were no longer in the distance. He was among them.
On went Satan. His breath was coming more and more laboured. It seemed
to Dan's dim consciousness that some of the spring was gone from that
glorious stride which swept on and on with the slightest undulation,
like a swallow skimming before the wind; but so long as strength
remained he knew that Satan would never falter in his pace. As the
delirium swept once more shadow-like on his brain, he allowed himself
to fall forward, and wound his fingers as closely as possible in the
thick mane. His left arm jerked horribly against the bonds. Black
night swallowed him once more.
Only his invincible heart kept Satan going throughout that last
stretch. His ears lay flat on his neck, lifting only when the master
muttered and raved in his fever. Foam flew back against his throat
and breast. His breath came shorter, harder, with a rasp; but the
gibbering voice of his rider urged him on, faster, and faster. They
topped a small hill, and a little to the left and a mile away, rose
a group of cottonwoods, and Dan, recovering consciousness, knew the
house of Buck.
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