He's warnin' us back to the rest of the gang.

And damned if we ain't goin'!" It was quite patent that he was right, for three bullets sent on a line for one horse, and each of them closer, could mean only one thing.

They checked their horses, and in a moment the rest of the posse was clattering around them.
"It don't make no difference," called Retherton, "savin' in time.

Maybe he'll last to Wilsonville, but he can't stay in three miles when we hang onto him with fresh hosses.

The black is runnin' on nothin' but guts right now.".