“Well?” he queried.

Glendin poured his drink with a shaking hand, spilling much liquor across the varnished wood.  He drained his glass at a gulp.

“I dunno; what d’you think, Murphy?”

“You heard him talk, Glendin.  You ought to know what’s best.”

“Let’s hear you say it.”

“I’d climb the best hoss I owned and start west, and when I come to the sea I’d take a ship and keep right on goin’ till I got halfway around the world.  And then I’d climb a mountain and hire a couple of dead-shots for guards and have my first night’s sleep.  After that I’d begin thinkin’ of what I could do to get away from Drew.”

“Murphy,” said the other, “maybe that line of talk would sound sort of exaggerated to some, but I ain’t one of them.  You’ve got a wooden leg, but your brain’s sound.  But tell me, what in God’s name makes him so thick with the tenderfoot?”

He waited for no answer, but started for the door.

CHAPTER XL

PARTNERS

If Drew had done hard things in his life, few were more remorseless than the ride on the great bay horse that day.  Starting out, he reckoned coldly the total strength of the gallant animal, the distance to his old house, and figured that it was just within possibilities that he might reach the place before evening.  From that moment it was certain that the horse would not survive the ride.

It was merely a question as to whether or not the master had so gaged his strength that the bay would not collapse before even the summit of the range had been reached.  As the miles went by the horse loosened and extended finely to his work; sweat darkened and polished his flanks; flecks of foam whirled back and spattered his chest and the legs of his rider; he kept on; almost to the last the rein had to be drawn taut; to the very last his heart was even greater than his body.

Up the steep slopes Drew let the horse walk; every other inch of the way it was either the fast trot or a swinging gallop, not the mechanical, easy pace of the cattle-pony, but a driving, lunging speed.  The big hoofs literally smashed at the rocks, and the ringing of it echoed hollowly along the rock face of the ravine.

At the summit, for a single moment, like a bird of prey pausing in mid circle to note the position of the field mouse before it closes wings and bolts down out of the blue, Drew sat his horse motionless and stared down into the valleys below until he noted the exact location of his house—­the lake glittered back and up to him in the slant light of the late afternoon.  The bay, such was the violence of its panting, literally rocked beneath him.

Then he started the last downward course, sweeping along the treacherous trail with reckless speed, the rocks scattering before him.  When they straightened out on the level going beneath, the bay was staggering; there was no longer any of the lilt and ease of the strong horse running; it was a succession of jerks and jars, and the panting was a sharper sound than the thunder of the hoofs.  His shoulders, his flanks, his neck—­all was foam now; and little by little the proud head fell, reached out; still he drove against the bit; still the rider had to keep up the restraining pressure.