Читать книгу Frank Merriwell, Jr., in Arizona; or, Clearing a Rival's Record онлайн

63 страница из 92

“Come on, Bleek, and we’ll try it.”

They had hardly started before Merriwell came to a quick halt, and dropped his hand on Bleeker’s arm.

“Listen!” he said.

They bent their heads, and what Merriwell had heard came to the ears of each of them distinctly. It was the sound of galloping hoofs.

“That’s a horse, all right,” murmured Bleeker excitedly. “From the sound, the animal is heading this way.”

“One horse,” said Frank. “Wait till I climb this hill and see if I can locate the animal.”

He hurried to the top of the low hill on his left, and stared in the direction from which the hoofbeats were coming. To the south, perhaps a hundred feet away, was a long ridge. Well to the east of the point where he was making his observations, he could see the head of a horseman bobbing up and down as the animal he rode lifted and dropped in a slow gallop. The rider was heading west, following the other side of the ridge.

A quick survey of the ground showed Frank that the valley which he and Bleeker were following pierced the ridge, and, if they made good time, they could get to that part of the ridge ahead of the rider. Thus, if the rider did not change his course, they might be able to intercept him. Frank bounded down the hillside and started southward at a run.