The herd carried now upon its flank three figures which clung alongside and poured sharp blue jets of smoke into the swirling cloud of ashy dust.
It was neck and neck for the three.

The cowboy, Curly, had slightly the advance of the others, but needed to spur hard to keep even with Battersleigh, the old cavalryman, who rode with weight back and hands low, as though it were cross country in old Ireland.

Franklin challenged both in the run up, riding with the confidence of the man who learned the saddle young in life.

They swerved slightly apart as they struck the flank of the herd and began to fire.

At such range it was out of the question to miss.