Lie quiet and tie up your hurt.

Bart, watch him!" And there sat Gregg where he had slipped down in his daze of weakness with the great dog crouched at his feet and snarling ominously every time he raised his hand.

The voices came closer; the crashing burst on his very ears, and now, through the interstices of the shrubbery he saw the stranger swing into the saddle on Grey Molly and urge her to a gallop.

He could follow them for only an instant with his eyes, but it seemed to Vic that Molly cantered under her new rider with strange ease and lightness.

It was partly the rest, no doubt, and partly the smaller burden.
A deep beat of racing hoofs, and then the dusty roan shot out of the trees close by with the sheriff leaning forward, jockeying his horse.
It seemed that no living thing could escape from that relentless rider.
Then right behind Vic a horse snorted and grunted--as it leaped a fallen log, perhaps--and he watched in alarm to see if the stallion would answer that sound with start or whinney.