The borderer now spurred after Thurstane, who had got a dozen rods the lead of him.  Coronado rapidly examined his saddle-bags and then his pockets without finding the cord or strap which he needed.  He swore a little at this, but not with any poignant emotion, for in the first place fighting was not a thing that he yearned for, and in the second place he hardly anticipated a combat.  The robbers, he felt certain, were only vagrant rancheros, or the cowardly Indians of some village, who would have neither the weapons nor the pluck to give battle.

But suddenly an alarming suspicion crossed his mind.  Would Texas Smith seize this chance to send a bullet through Thurstane’s head from behind?  Knowing the cutthroat’s recklessness and his almost insane thirst for blood, he feared that this might happen.  And there was the train in view; the deed would probably be seen, and, if so, would be seen as murder; and then would come pursuit of the assassin, with possibly his seizure and confession.  It would not do; no, it would not do here and now; he must dash forward and prevent it.

Swinging his saddle upon his horse’s back, he vaulted into it without touching pommel or stirrup, and set off at full speed to arrest the blow which he desired.  Over the plain flew the fiery animal, Coronado balancing himself in his unsteady seat with marvellous ease and grace, his dark eyes steadily watching every movement of the bushwhacker.  There were sheets of bare rock here and there; there were loose slates and detached blocks of sandstone.  The beast dashed across the first without slipping, and cleared the others without swerving; his rider bowed and swayed in the saddle without falling.

Texas Smith was now within a few yards of Thurstane, and it could be seen that he had drawn his revolver.  Coronado asked himself in horror whether the man had understood the words “Go on” as a command for murder.  He was thinking very fast; he was thinking as fast as he rode.  Once a terrible temptation came upon him:  he might let the fatal shot be fired; then he might fire another.  Thus he would get rid of Thurstane, and at the same time have the air of avenging him, while ridding himself of his dangerous bravo.  But he rejected this plan almost as soon as he thought of it.  He did not feel sure of bringing down Texas at the first fire, and if he did not, his own life was not worth a second’s purchase.  As for the fact that he had been lately saved from death by the borderer, that would not have checked Coronado’s hand, even had he remembered it.  He must dash on at full speed, and prevent a crime which would be a blunder.  But already it was nearly too late, for the Texan was close upon the officer.  Nothing could save the doomed man but Coronado’s magnificent horsemanship.  He seemed a part of his steed; he shot like a bird over the sheets and bowlders of rock; he was a wonder of speed and grace.

Suddenly the outlaw’s pistol rose to a level, and Coronado uttered a shout of anxiety and horror.