But at the end of half an hour the black figures were perceptibly closer.
"They're gaining on us," said Boland, turning his red-lidded eyes on Stan.

"They have better horses, or fresher." "No," said Stan; "they're riding faster--that's all.

They haven't a chance; they can't keep it up at the rate they're doing now.

They're five miles to the north, and it isn't far to the finish.

See that huddle of little hills in the middle of the plain, ahead and a little to the south?
That's our place, and we can't be caught before we get there.