"Ashby is crazy, all right," remarked bronzed man. "None but an insane
man would ride out there."
Somewhat tardily automobile parties started in pursuit. These vehicles
were halted at the edge of the quicksand. Tom and Harry had also come
this far.
In the background the halted crowd watched in suspense as George Ashby
galloped over the treacherous sand.
Several times the pony's hoofs were seen to sink, yet each time the
animal seemed able to draw his feet out of the sand and go on again.
"It's a crazy man's luck," cried an Arizona man thickly. "Of course,
here and there on the Man-killer there are safe, sound spots, and Ashby
is having the luck of his life in hitting all the sound spots in getting
across. But I wouldn't follow him for a thousand dollars a minute!"
The mad hotel man was soon lost to view on the other side of one of the
little hills of sand.
There would have been little sense in trying to follow him or to head
him off, even by more roundabout courses. Ashby was now far enough away
to elude any pursuit that might start.
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