Moran guessed the truth and dismounted. The horse stood with drooping head and the light of a match revealed a red stream bubbling from his flank with each labored breath. One of the shots fired at Moran as he crossed the bar had found the horse.
The firing had long since ceased and he knew the outlaws had been killed to a man. He made a rapid calculation of distances, determining whether to keep on and go to his own horse or to turn back for another. He drew his gun and inserted a fresh clip of shells. As he led the horse aside so its body would not obstruct the trail, Moran prayed that Flash had found the girl.
But Flash had not.
He had reached the cabin only to find that she had left it long before. Her cold trail mingled with that of Brent. The hair along his spine stood straight and stiff, and Flash snarled deep in his throat. Without an instant’s hesitation he swept away on the trail, and as he ran there seemed to be two of him—two spirits urging the same flesh along on this double trail left by the one he loved the best and the one he hated the most of all these on earth. The dog strove to overtake
