'It's a horse! Your lasso, Rube!' Rube, however, had made a
tremendous rush forward, and, before the animal could stretch
himself into a gallop, had got close, and grasped him by the mane.
'It's no go,' Rube said, as the horse made a step forward; 'he's an
old un, dead lame.'
'Don't leave go, Rube,' I said. 'He'll do for our turn.' He was a
miserable old beast, but I felt that he would do as well as the
best horse in the world for us. Rube saw my meaning and in a minute
we were both astride on his back. He tottered, and I thought he'd
have gone down on his head. Kicking weren't of no good; so I out
with my knife and gave him a prod, and off we went. It weren't far,
some two hundred yards or so, but it was the way I wanted him,
right across the line we were going. Then down he tumbled.
'All right,' said I. 'You've done your work, old man; but you
mustn't lay here, or they may light upon you and guess what's been
up.'
So we lugged him on to his feet, gave him another prod, which sent
him limping off; and on we went on our course, sure that we were at
last safe, for we had thrown the bloodhound altogether off our
trail. For a mile or so we kept right away from our course, for
fear that they should keep straight on, and, missing the scent,
lead the dog across the trail, and so pick it up again; then we
turned and made straight for the road.
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