"
Ned followed the pointing finger, and he now noticed the Mexican, a
vaquero, who had been crouching so low that his figure blurred with the
earth. Ned saw the coiled lariat hanging over his arm, and he knew that
the man intended to capture Old Jack, a prize worth any effort.
"Do you think I ought to shoot him?" asked the sentinel.
"Not yet, at least," replied Ned. "I brought my horse into this danger,
but I think that he'll take himself out of it."
Old Jack had paused, as if uncertain which way to go. But Ned felt sure
that he was watching the Mexican out of the tail of his eye. The
vaquero, emboldened by the prospect of such a splendid prize, crept
closer and closer, and then suddenly threw the lasso. The horse's head
ducked down swiftly, the coil of rope slipped back over his head, and he
dashed at the Mexican.
The vaquero was barely in time to escape those terrible hoofs. But
howling with terror he sprang clear and raced away in the darkness. The
horse whinnied once or twice gently, waited, and, when no answer came to
his calls, trotted off in the dusk.
"No Mexican will take your horse," said the sentinel.
"You're right when you say that," said Ned. "I don't think another will
ever get so near him, but if he should you see that my horse knows how
to take care of himself.
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