Something whizzed through the air and instinctively he bent forward almost flat on the neck of Old Jack.  A coiling shape struck him on the head, slipped along his back, then along the quarters of his horse and fell to the ground.  He felt as if a deadly snake had struck at him, and then had drawn its cold body across him.  But he knew that it was a lasso.  The Mexicans would wish to take him alive, as they might secure valuable information from him.  Now he heard them shouting to one another, every one boasting that his would be the successful throw.  As Ned’s rifle was empty, and he could not reload it at such speed, they seemed to fear nothing for themselves.

He looked back.  They numbered seven or eight, and they were certainly very near.  They had spread out a little and whenever Old Jack veered a yard or two from the pursuers some one gained.  He saw a coil of rope fly through the air and he bent forward again.  It struck Old Jack on the saddle and fell to the ground.  Ned wondered why they did not fire now, but he remembered that their rifles or muskets, too, might be empty, and suddenly he felt a strange exultation.  He was still lying forward on his horse’s neck, and now he began to talk to him.

“On!  On!  Old Jack,” he said, “show ’em the cleanest heels that were ever seen in Texas!  On!  On! my beauty of a horse, my jewel of a horse!  Would you let miserable Mexican ponies overtake you?  You who were never beaten!  Ah, now we gain!  But faster! faster!”

It seemed that Old Jack understood.  He stretched out his long neck and became a streak in the darkness.  A third Mexican threw his lasso, but the noose only touched his flying tail.  A fourth threw, and the noose did not reach him at all.

They were far out on the plain now, where the moonlight revealed everything, and the horse’s sure instinct would guide.  Ned felt Old Jack beneath him, running strong and true without a jar like the most perfect piece of machinery.  He stole a glance over his shoulder.  All the Mexicans were there, too far away now for a throw of the lasso, but several of them were trying to reload their weapons.  Ned knew that if they succeeded he would be in great danger.  No matter how badly they shot a chance bullet might hit him or his horse.  And he could afford for neither himself nor Old Jack to be wounded.

Once more the boy leaned far over on his horse’s neck and cried in his ear: 

“On, Old Jack, on!  Look, we gain now, but we must gain more.  Show to them what a horse you are!”

And again the great horse responded.  Fast as he was going it seemed to Ned that he now lengthened his stride.  His long head was thrust out almost straight, and his great body fairly skimmed the earth.  But the Mexicans hung on with grim tenacity.  Their ponies were tough and enduring, and, spread out like the arc of a bow, they continually profited by some divergence that Old Jack made from the straight line.  Aware of this danger Ned himself, nevertheless, was unable to tell whether the horse was going in a direct course, and he let him have his head.