Turning
in his saddle, the rustler began to shoot, and the bullets beat
up little whiffs of dust. Venters raised his rifle, ready to take
snap shots, and waited for favorable opportunity when Bells was
out of line with the forward horses. Venters had it in him to
kill these men as if they were skunk-bitten coyotes, but also he
had restraint enough to keep from shooting one of Jane's beloved
Arabians.
No great distance was covered, however, before Bells swerved to
the left, out of line with Black Star and Night. Then Venters,
aiming high and waiting for the pause between Wrangle's great
strides, began to take snap shots at the rustler. The fleeing
rider presented a broad target for a rifle, but he was moving
swiftly forward and bobbing up and down. Moreover, shooting from
Wrangle's back was shooting from a thunderbolt. And added to that
was the danger of a low-placed bullet taking effect on Bells.
Yet, despite these considerations, making the shot exceedingly
difficult, Venters's confidence, like his implacability, saw a
speedy and fatal termination of that rustler's race. On the sixth
shot the rustler threw up his arms and took a flying tumble off
his horse. He rolled over and over, hunched himself to a
half-erect position, fell, and then dragged himself into the
sage. As Venters went thundering by he peered keenly into the
sage, but caught no sign of the man.
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