The other Indians came trooping on in a cloud of dust, yelling and shouting, and now and then firing a shot, apparently aimed at the good horse that so steadily kept his pace.

“They only want me,” said Barbara.  “If they can overtake us there are enough of them to overpower you.  They will not try to do much harm to you, for they would not dare.  But they will take me and carry me back with them—­if you let them.”

“I will not let them,” he replied between set teeth.

At last Wemple saw that their pursuers were slowly but surely gaining on them.  Barbara saw it too, and she redoubled her prayers to the Virgin, and both she and her lover with words and caresses strove to keep up the courage in their horse’s heart.  The good steed was of the sort whose spirit does not falter until strength is gone, and he seemed to understand that these people on his back were under some mighty need.  For with unwavering pace he kept up his long, swift gallop, notwithstanding his double burden and the distance he had travelled before the race began.

So they kept on, mile after mile, with their pursuers gaining, little by little, upon them, and when at last they neared Laguna the Indians were within a hundred yards.  A banner of smoke across the plain told them that the east-bound train was approaching.

“I believe we can make it!” exclaimed Wemple, as they heard the engine’s announcing scream.  Apparently their pursuers guessed what the fugitives would try to do, for as they saw the train they shouted and yelled louder than before and urged their ponies to a still higher speed.  They gained rapidly for a little while, for the Lieutenant’s horse was beginning to flag, and Wemple, leaning to one side, gave the bridle into Barbara’s hands and, with left arm dangling useless, reached for his revolver.  He began to fear that they might yet head him off and surround him.  They outnumbered him hopelessly, but he would try to fight his way through them.  If worst came to worst,—­he would save two shots out of the six,—­Barbara should not fall into their hands.

The train drew into the station and the Indians were not more than a hundred feet behind him.  The horse’s faltering gait and heaving sides showed that he had reached almost his limit of strength.  Some dogs ran out from a house, barking furiously.  But being in his rear they only made Wemple’s horse quicken his pace.  They darted at the heads of the ponies, which shied and pranced about, and so lost to their riders some valuable seconds.

The train was already moving as Wemple dashed up to its hindmost car, his horse staggering and their pursuers almost upon them.

“Jump for the car-steps!” he shouted to Barbara.  She had not leaped and clambered up and down the stair in the Acoma cliff all her life for nothing, and her strength and agility stood her in good stead in this moment of supreme necessity.  She leaped from the horse’s back, landed upon the upper step, and whirled about to assist her lover.