But his pursuers had the advantage of knowing the
ground, while he had to choose his course on the spur of the moment. He
lost precious seconds in dodging obstacles, and he could hear the clatter
of horses coming nearer and nearer. At any moment a bullet might bring
him down.
The wound in his head was bleeding now under his tremendous exertions,
and he began to grow dizzy and faint. But, although his strength was
ebbing, his heart was as high and his spirit as undaunted as ever. He
would never surrender. As a last resource he had his revolver, and, if he
had to die, he would take some of the outlaws with him. The thud of hoofs
was nearer now, and bullets began to whiz past him. A voice that he
knew was that of the leader of the gang shouted to him to halt. Before
him was a thinning of the woods that indicated open country. On a level
course they could never get him. His second wind was coming back and he
would distance them yet. On, on, he went, running like the wind.
A few rods ahead the trail bent round in a sweeping curve, and as Bert
approached it on flying feet, he heard horsemen coming from that
direction.
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