Even in her anguish, Marianne noted with a thrill of wonder that though the Coles horses were racing at the top of their speed, the stallion overtook them instantly and shot into the lead.

For that matter, handicapped with a wretched ride, staggering weak from underfeeding, he had been good enough to beat them in Glosterville, and now he was transformed by rich pasture and glorious freedom.
The whole group disappeared, and when she reached the crest in turn, she saw them streaking far off, hopelessly beyond pursuit, and in the rear labored a grey mare, sadly outrun.

Then, as she drew rein, with the mare heaving and swaying from exhaustion beneath her, she remembered the words of Lew Hervey: "It'll take ten years to get the chestnut!" Marianne dropped her face in her hands and burst into tears.
It was only a momentary surrender.

When she turned back to join the downheaded men on the home-trail--for it was worse than useless to follow Alcatraz on such jaded horses--Marianne had rallied to continue the fight.

Ten years to capture Alcatraz and the mares he led?
She swept the forms of the cowpunchers with one of those all-embracing glances of which few great men and all excited women are capable.