The Pacing Mustang 



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den foe. Then he approached where there was 

 no trail at all and drank. 



Jo watched and wished he would drink a 

 hogshead. But the moment that he turned 

 and sought the grass Jo spurred his steed. The 

 Pacer heard the hoofs, then saw the running 

 horse, and did not want a nearer view but led 

 away. Across the fiat he went down to the 

 south, and kept the famous swinging gait that 

 made his start grow longer. Now through the 

 sandy dunes he went, and steadying to an even 

 pace he gained considerably and Jo's too-laden 

 horse plunged through the sand and sinking fet- 

 lock deep, he lost at every bound. Then came a 

 level stretch where the runner seemed to gain, 

 and then a long decline where Jo's horse dared 

 not run his best, so lost again at every step, 



But on they went, and Jo spared neither spur 

 nor quirt. A mile — a mile — and another mile, 

 and the far-off rock at Arriba loomed up 

 ahead. 



And there Jo knew fresh mounts were held, 

 and on they dashed. But the night-black 

 mane out level on the breeze ahead was gaining 

 more and more. 



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