peculiar yell they pressed forward with a great burst of speed, not even
checking the gait when the ball which Moriarity sent whistled over them.

Instantly several rifles were leveled at the flying robbers, and had not
Chip commanded them not to shoot it would have fared ill with Jim
Cummings and his companions.

With the speed of the wind the horses flew down the trail, the rapid
hoof beats rang out on the still night and sent the slinking coyotes
howling to their lairs. Just peering above the horizon could be seen the
dark outlines of Goody's Bluff, fifteen miles away, and if Cummings
could but reach its shadow he was safe, even from the posse which was
pursuing him, for he would then be in the Indian Territory. Looking back
at his pursuers, who in a solid group were following him so closely that
he could almost distinguish their features, so bright was the night, he
saw that their horses were not driven at the full height of their speed,
but were rather being held back. Alarmed at this he communicated his
fears to his companions, who, one on each side, were bending forward in
the saddle, urging and caressing their horses to get all there was out
of them, and right gamely did the stanch animals respond to the touch of
the spur or pat of the hand, as they beat out mile after mile behind
them, the hoof-beats echoed by the flying party behind. With starting
eye-balls eagerly fixed on the dim outlines of the bluff, the hunted men
watched it grow larger and more distinct, and hope began to revive in
their breasts when a sharp "ping" of a rifle, followed by the whistle of
the ball passing over their heads broke the silence of the wordless
chase.

As with one impulse, each man threw himself flat on his horse's neck,
but did not for an instant relax speed or spur. Another shot followed,