In a few miles of that swinging canter Wrangle had crept
appreciably closer to the three horses. Jerry Card turned again,
and when he saw how the sorrel had gained, he put Black Star to a
gallop. Night and Bells, on either side of him, swept into his
stride.
Venters loosened the rein on Wrangle and let him break into a
gallop. The sorrel saw the horses ahead and wanted to run. But
Venters restrained him. And in the gallop he gained more than in
the canter. Bells was fast in that gait, but Black Star and Night
had been trained to run. Slowly Wrangle closed the gap down to a
quarter of a mile, and crept closer and closer.
Jerry Card wheeled once more. Venters distinctly saw the red
flash of his red face. This time he looked long. Venters laughed.
He knew what passed in Card's mind. The rider was trying to make
out what horse it happened to be that thus gained on Jane
Withersteen's peerless racers. Wrangle had so long been away from
the village that not improbably Jerry had forgotten. Besides,
whatever Jerry's qualifications for his fame as the greatest
rider of the sage, certain it was that his best point was not
far-sightedness. He had not recognized Wrangle. After what must
have been a searching gaze he got his comrade to face about. This
action gave Venters amusement. It spoke so surely of the facts
that neither Card nor the rustler actually knew their danger.
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