He was fresh, swift, half wild.

Duane flashed by the remaining houses on the street out into the open.

But the road ended at that village or else led out from some other quarter, for he had ridden straight into the fields and from them into rough desert.
When he reached the cover of mesquite once more he looked back to find six horsemen within rifle-shot of him, and more coming behind them.
His new horse had not had time to get warm before Duane reached a high sandy bluff below which lay the willow brakes.

As far as he could see extended an immense flat strip of red-tinged willow.

How welcome it was to his eye! He felt like a hunted wolf that, weary and lame, had reached his hole in the rocks.