Then the voice rose again more commandingly.
"Pull up, I want a talk with you." Winston turned his head a moment, and remembering Courthorne's English flung back the answer, "Sorry I haven't time." The faint musical jingle grew plainer, there was a thud of hoofs behind, and the curious exhilaration returned to Winston as the big black horse stretched out at a gallop.

The soil was hard as granite, but the matted grasses formed a covering that rendered fast riding possible to a man who took the risks, and Winston knew there were few horses in the Government service to match the one he rode.

Still, it was evident that the trooper meant to overtake him, and recollecting his compact he tightened his grip on the bridle.

It was a long way to the ranch where he was to spend the night, and he knew that the further he drew the trooper on, the better it would suit Courthorne.
So they swept on through the darkness over the empty waste, the trooper who was riding hard slowly creeping up behind.

Still, Winston held the horse in until a glance over his shoulder showed him that there was less than a hundred yards between them, and he fancied he heard a portentous rattle as well as the thud of hoofs.