He cursed.
He could not watch both the back and the front door, but he could watch
the outside of the house, could go a little distance away from it and
thus see anybody who would leave it.
He walked away toward the timber clump, looking around him. As his
gaze swept the wood near the river he caught a glimpse of a horse and
rider as they passed through a clearing and went slowly away from him.
They had tricked him again! Probably by this time Betty was in her
room, laughing at him. Taggart was laughing, too, no doubt. The
thought maddened him. He cursed bitterly as he ran to the stable. He
was inside in a flash, saddling Blackleg, jamming a bit into his mouth.
He would follow Taggart to the Arrow, to hell--anywhere, but he would
catch him. Blackleg could do it; he would make him do it, if he killed
him in the end.
In three minutes Blackleg shot out of the stable door--a flash in the
night. The swift turn that was required of him he made on his hind
legs, and then, with a plunge and a snort of delight, he was away over
the level toward the wood.
Calumet guided Blackleg toward the spot where he had seen the rider,
certain that he could not have gone far during the interval that had
elapsed, but when he reached the spot there was no sign of a horse and
rider in any direction.
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