Like an arrow from the bow sped the animal, and, seeing the point toward which he was aiming, the Apaches endeavored to close the gap.

The equine fugitive did not swerve in the least, and it looked as if he was plunging to his own destruction.
The scout saw it all, and made no effort to change the direction he was pursuing.

He only grasped his bowie the more tightly and compressed his lips.

There was an ugly gleam in his sharp gray eye as he braced himself for the conflict.
The nose of the mustang was almost touching the head of the other horses, when he swerved almost at right angles, and, with a tremendous burst of speed, shot through the nearest "opening." This threw all his enemies, by the brilliant maneuver, in his rear, and left the clear prairie before him as a path in which to complete his flight.
The space separating Sut from his enemies was too slight for him to reach safety by one plunge.

The mustang was scarcely under way, when he was compelled to dodge as abruptly as before, and in a trice he made a third, which was done with consummate skill, and yet with the unavoidable result of bringing the scout in collision with a swarthy warrior.