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.
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