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.
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