Inch by inch the dogs gained upon the rabbit. Standing in his stirrups, Ben Blair, the seemingly stolid, watched the scene. The twenty feet lessened to eighteen, to fifteen, and, turning his head, the man looked at his companion. Beautiful as she was, there now appeared to his eye an expression of anticipation,--anticipation of the end, anticipation of a death,--the death of a weaker animal!
A determination which had been only latent became positive with Blair. He urged on his horse to the uttermost and sprang past his companion. His right hand went to his hip and lingered there. His voice rang out above the sound of the horses' feet and of their breathing.
"Hi, there, Racer, Pacer!" he shouted. "Come here!"
There was no response from the hounds; no sign that they had heard him. They were within ten feet of the rabbit now, and no voice on earth could have stopped them.
"Pacer! Racer!" shouted Ben. There was a pause, and then the quick bark of a revolver. A puff of dust arose before the nose of the leading dog.
Again no response, only the steadily lessening distance.
For a second Ben Blair hesitated; but it was for a second only. Florence watched him, too surprised to speak, and saw what for a moment made her doubt her own eyes. The hand that held the big revolver was raised, there was a report, then another, and the two dead hounds went tumbling over and over with their own momentum upon the brown prairie. Beyond them the rabbit bounded away into distance and safety.
Without a word Ben Blair drew rein, returned the revolver to its holster, and came back to where the girl had stopped.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "I'll pay you for the dogs, if you like." A pause and a straight glance from out the blue eyes. "I couldn't help doing what I did."
Having in mind the look he had last seen upon the girl's face, he expected an explosion of wrath; but he was destined to surprise. There was silence, instead, while two great tears gathered slowly in her soft eyes, and brimmed over upon the brown cheeks.
"I don't want you to pay for the dogs; I'm glad they're gone." She brushed back a straggling lock of hair. "It's a horrid sport, and I'll never have anything to do with it again." A look that set the youth's heart bounding shot out sideways from beneath the long lashes. "I'm very glad you did--what you did."
Just then the noisy old buckboard, with Rankin and Scotty clinging to the seat, drove up and stopped short, with a protest from every joint of the ancient vehicle.