All their movements became automatic, instinctive, the result of iron discipline.

They realized the only hope--attainment of the Cimarron bluffs.

There was no shelter there in the open, to either man or horse; the sole choice left was to struggle on, or lie down and die.

The last was likely to be the end of it, but while a drop of blood ran red and warm in their veins they would keep their feet and fight.
Carroll's horse stumbled and rolled, catching the numbed trooper under his weight.

The jerk on the lariat flung Wade out of the saddle, dangling head downward.