"And Cloudy and Carara."
"Wally, your man has lost his reason!" Chapin called.
At that instant the watchers saw the Mexican thunder down upon
Glass, his lariat swinging about his head. Lazily the rope
uncoiled and settled over the fleeing figure, then, amid a cloud
of dust, Carara's horse set itself upon its haunches and the
white-clad figure came to the end of its flight. There was a
violent struggle, as if the cowboy had hooked a leaping tuna,
cactus plants and sage-brush were uprooted, then the pony began
to back away, always keeping the lariat taut. But Glass was no
easy captive, as his threshing arms and legs betrayed, and even
when he was dragged back to the scene of the race, panting,
grimy, dishevelled, the rope still about his waist, he seemed
obsessed by that wild insanity for flight. He was drenched with
perspiration, his collar was dangling, one end of a suspender
trailed behind him.
At sight of Speed he uttered a cry, then plunged through the
crowd like a bull, but the lariat loop slipped to his neck and
tightened like a hangman's noose.
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