The deer kept its lead by desperate, agonizing effort, and the woman
knew that the summit would have exhausted its resources.
On they went, on and up, the pace of both ever slackening. One hundred
yards only separated them now, and, with almost every stride, the
distance was lessening. The summit was in sight. The pony was blowing
hard. Effie urged him, and the vicious Mexican spurs found his flanks.
There was no thought of sparing in the girl's mind. If the broncho
failed her, then she must finish the chase on foot.
Another fifty yards or so and the deer would have reached the summit.
Could she permit it? Dared she risk what lay beyond? If the open pine
woods continued she might, but--what lay beyond?
Without further speculation she suddenly flung out of the saddle. Her
decision was taken. She dared not risk that summit with her pony now
rapidly failing. She must chance her own unsteadiness. The pursuit
had been hard and breathless. Well, she must trust to her nerve.
She left her steaming pony and dropped on one knee.
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