Will N Harben

Westerfelt Will N Harben

Excerpt: ...on the level road. A minute more and Westerfelt would be a captive. He might get across the street unnoticed and hide himself in the blacksmith's shop, but they would be sure to look for him there. If he tried to go through the fields they would see him and shoot him down like a rabbit. "Heer you are; which door, back or front?" cried Washburn. "Front, quick! I've got to run for it! I'm a good mind to stand and make a fight of it." "Oh no; hell, no! Mr. Westerfelt." Washburn slid the big door open and kicked the horse in the stomach as he led him out. "Git up, quick! They are at the branch. Blast it, they heerd the door-they've broke into a gallop!" As Westerfelt put his foot into the stirrup he saw Harriet Floyd glide out of sight into the blacksmith's shop. She had determined not to desert him. As he sprang up, the girth snapped, and the saddle and blanket fell under his feet. "God, they are on us!" gasped Washburn. One of the gang raised a shout, and they came on with increased speed. "Up! Up!" cried Washburn, kicking the saddle out of his way. "Quick! What's the matter?" Westerfelt felt a twinge in his old wound as he tried to mount. Washburn caught one of his legs and lifted him on his horse. Westerfelt spurred the horse furiously, but the animal plunged, stumbled, and came to his knees-the bridle-rein had caught his foot. The foremost of the gang was now within twenty yards of him. "Halt thar!" he yelled. Westerfelt drew his horse up and continued to lash him with his bridle-rein. "Shoot his hoss, but don't tetch him!" was the next command. Several revolvers went off. Westerfelt's horse swayed at the rump and then ran sideways across the street and fell against a rail fence. Westerfelt alighted on his feet. He turned and drew his revolver, but just then his horse rolled over against his legs and knocked the weapon from his hand. It struck the belly of the horse and bounded into the middle of the street. "Ha, we've got ye!" jeered the...