Looking backward, he saw that his pursuers were half a mile distant, too far to alarm any villagers in time to intercept him in his flight.

As he rode by the first houses his horse broke and began to labor.

Duane did not believe he would last long enough to go through the village.
Saddled horses in front of a store gave Duane an idea, not by any means new, and one he had carried out successfully before.

As he pulled in his heaving mount and leaped off, a couple of ranchers came out of the place, and one of them stepped to a clean-limbed, fiery bay.

He was about to get into his saddle when he saw Duane, and then he halted, a foot in the stirrup.
Duane strode forward, grasped the bridle of this man's horse.
"Mine's done--but not killed," he panted.