“Crack!” went a musket, and a bullet sang past Ned’s face.  It grazed Old Jack’s ear, drawing blood.  The horse uttered an angry snort and fairly leaped forward.  Ned looked back again.  Another man had succeeded in loading his musket and was about to fire.  Then the boy remembered the pistol at his belt.  Snatching it out he fired at the fellow with the loaded musket.

The Mexican reeled forward on his horse’s neck and his weapon dropped to the ground.  Whether the man himself fell also Ned never knew, because he quickly thrust the pistol back in his belt and once more was looking straight ahead.  Now confidence swelled again in his heart.  He had escaped all their bullets so far, and he was still gaining.  He would escape all the others and he would continue to gain.

He saw just ahead of him one of the clumps of trees that dotted the plain, but, although it might give momentary protection from the bullets he was afraid to gallop into it, lest he be swept from his horse’s back by the boughs or bushes.  But his direct course would run close to the left side of it, and once more he sought to urge Old Jack to greater speed.

The horse was still running without a jar.  Ned could not feel a single rough movement in the perfect machinery beneath him.  Unless wounded Old Jack would not fail him.  He stole another of those fleeting glances backward.

Several of the Mexicans, their ponies spent, were dropping out of the race, but enough were left to make the odds far too great.  Ned now skimmed along the edge of the grove, and when he passed it he turned his horse a little, so the trees were between him and his nearest pursuers.  Then he urged Old Jack to his last ounce of speed.  The plain raced behind him, and fortunate clouds, too, now came, veiling the moon and turning the dusk into deeper darkness.  Ned heard one disappointed cry behind him, and then no sound but the flying beat of his own horse’s hoofs.

When he pulled rein and brought Old Jack to a walk he could see or hear nothing of the Mexicans.  The great horse was a lather of foam, his sides heaving and panting, and Ned sprang to the ground.  He reloaded his rifle and pistol and then walked toward the west, leading Old Jack by the bridle.  He reckoned that the Mexicans would go toward the north, thinking that he would naturally ride for San Antonio, and hence he chose the opposite direction.

He walked a long time and presently he felt the horse rubbing his nose gently against his arm.  Ned stroked the soft muzzle.

“You’ve saved my life.  Old Jack,” he said, “and not for the first time.  You responded to every call.”

The horse whinnied ever so softly, and Ned felt that he was not alone.  Now he threw the bridle reins back over the horse’s head, and then the two walked on, side by side, man and beast.