Come in here out of sight; I'm going to take 'em off your trail." While he spoke, he led, half carried Vic, into a thicket of shrubs with a small open space at the center.

The black and the wolf-dog followed and now the stranger pulled at the bridle rein.

The stallion kneeled like a trained dog, and lying thus the shrubbery was high enough to hide him.

Closer, sweeping through the wood, Vic heard the crash of the pursuit, yet the other was maddeningly slow of speech.
"You stay here, partner, and sit over there.

I'm borrowin' your gun"-- a swift hand appropriated it from Vic's holster and his own fingers were too paralyzed to resist--"and don't you try to ride my hoss unless you want them teeth in your throat.