The shoulder of the charging stallion struck Dene and sent him spinning out of the trail.  In a backward glance Hare saw the outlaw fall, then rise unhurt to shake his fists wildly and to run yelling toward the cabin.

XVII THE SWOOP OF THE HAWK

“Jack! the saddle’s slipping!” cried Mescal, clinging closer to him.  “What luck!” Hare muttered through clinched teeth, and pulled hard on the bridle.  But the mouth of the stallion was iron; regardless of the sawing bit, he galloped on.  Hare called steadily:  “Whoa there, Silver!  Whoa—­ slow now—­whoa—­easy!” and finally halted him.  Hare swung down, and as he lifted Mescal off, the saddle slipped to the ground.

“Lucky not to get a spill!  The girth snapped.  It was wet, and dried out.”  Hare hurriedly began to repair the break with buckskin thongs that he found in a saddle-bag.

“Listen!  Hear the yells!  Oh! hurry!” cried Mescal.

“I’ve never ridden bareback.  Suppose you go ahead with Silver, and I’ll hide in the cedars till dark, then walk home!”

“No—­No.  There’s time, but hurry.”

“It’s got to be strong,” muttered Hare, holding the strap over his knee and pulling the laced knot with all his strength, “for we’ll have to ride some.  If it comes loose—­Good-bye!”

Silvermane’s broad chest muscles rippled and he stamped restlessly.  The dog whined and looked back.  Mescal had the blanket smooth on the gray when Hare threw the saddle over him.  The yells had ceased, but clattering hoofs on the stony trail were a greater menace.  While Hare’s brown hands worked swiftly over buckle and strap Mescal climbed to a seat behind the saddle.

“Get into the saddle,” said Hare, leaping astride and pressing forward over the pommel.  “Slip down—­there! and hold to me.  Go!  Silver!”

The rapid pounding of the stallion’s hoofs drowned the clatter coming up the trail.  A backward glance relieved Hare, for dust-clouds some few hundred yards in the rear showed the position of the pursuing horsemen.  He held in Silvermane to a steady gallop.  The trail was up-hill, and steep enough to wind even a desert racer, if put to his limit.

“Look back!” cried Mescal.  “Can you see them?  Is Snap with them?”

“I can’t see for trees,” replied Hare, over his shoulder.  “There’s dust—­ we’re far in the lead—­never fear, Mescal.  The lead’s all we want.”

Cedars grew thickly all the way up the steeper part of the divide, and ended abruptly at a pathway of stone, where the ascent became gradual.  When Silvermane struck out of the grove upon this slope Hare kept turning keen glances rearward.  The dust cloud rolled to the edge of the cedars, and out of it trooped half-a-dozen horsemen who began to shoot as soon as they had reached the open.  Bullets zipped along the red stone, cutting little puffs of red dust, and sung through the air.