The Gold Dust maverick
answered by running another fifty yards and then herself settling into
the slower stride. "Like I thought," the Ramblin' Kid said to himself,
"it's a case of wear her out--a case of seasoned old muscle against
speedy young heels!"
It became a duel of endurance between Captain Jack, wiry, toughened and
fully matured, with heavier muscles, and the nimble, lighter-footed Gold
Dust mare.
At dark they were on the edge of the Arroyo Grande and Captain Jack had
closed the distance between them until less than a hundred yards was
between the heels of the filly and the head of the stallion behind her.
She turned east along the arroyo, followed it a mile, seeking a
crossing, then doubled straight north toward the Cimarron. Captain Jack
hung to her trail like a hound. In the blackness that preceded the storm
she could not lose him. With almost uncanny sureness he picked her
out--following, following, never giving the maverick a moment's rest.
Yet it seemed that the distance she kept ahead was measured, so alert
and watchful was she always. Both were dripping with sweat. Try as he
would, it seemed impossible for Captain Jack to win those few yards
that would put the filly in reach of the rope the Ramblin' Kid held
ready to cast until the inky darkness made it impossible to risk a
throw.
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