These words acted like a spur upon Archie’s flagging spirits.  He no longer thought of surrender:  on the contrary, almost before he knew it, he found himself on his feet and going down the mountain like the wind.

“Carrajo!” yelled the Ranchero, swinging his lasso around his head.

Archie was afraid of that lasso, for he knew that he was in danger as long as he was within reach of it; but fortunately he had been too quick for Antoine.  He heard the lariat whistle through the air behind him, and snap like a whip close to his ear, and then he knew that his enemy had missed his mark.

“Santa Maria!” shouted the robber.  “Stop, you young vagabond, or I’ll shoot you.”

The fugitive was not frightened by this threat.  He was not afraid of being shot, nor did he believe that he could be overtaken in a fair race; for, now that he got started, he found that he had wind enough left for a long run.  He had lived among the Rancheros long enough to know that they were very poor marksmen, and that they could not boast of their swiftness of foot; and, having escaped the lasso, his spirits rose again, and hope lent him wings.  He heard Antoine crushing through the bushes in pursuit, but the sound grew fainter and fainter as he sped on his way.  He jumped over rocks and logs, and cleared ravines that at almost any other time would have effectually checked his progress, and when he reached the thick woods at the base of the mountains, the Ranchero was out of sight and hearing.

Archie was well aware of the fact that he had now reached the most dangerous part of his route homeward.  The chief had ordered the band to “scatter out” when they reached the end of the pass, and he knew that every road that led toward the settlement was closely watched.  He knew, also, that his only chance for escape was to avoid these roads and keep in the thickest part of the woods.  He sat down behind some bushes to rest for a few moments, and then started on again, sometimes creeping on his hands and knees, making use of every log and rock to cover his retreat, and stopping frequently to examine the woods in front of him, and to listen for sounds of pursuit.  He had accomplished about a mile in this way, when he found himself in one of the numerous bridle-paths that ran through the mountains in every direction, and, what was worse, he saw the scowling visage of Pierre Costello arise from behind a log not ten paces from him.  With the same glance he saw something else; and that was a crouching figure in buckskin, which was creeping stealthily toward the robber.

“Here’s one caught,” said Pierre, stepping into the path and walking toward Archie.  “None of your tricks, now; you can’t escape.”

“I don’t intend to try,” replied Archie, with a boldness that astonished the robber.  “Your game is up, Mr. Pierre, and I advice you to surrender quietly, if you don’t want to get hurt!”

“What!” exclaimed the Ranchero.  “Surrender!  If you know what you are about, you will not offer any resistance.  I am a desperate man.”