My mount was a California roan pony, the fastest in the stables.

I dug the spurs into his sides, and, lying flat on his back, I kept straight on for Sweetwater Bridge eleven miles distant.

A turn back to Horse Creek might have brought me more speedily to shelter, but I did not dare risk it.
The Indians came on behind, riding with all the speed they could put into their horses, but my pony drew rapidly ahead.

I had a lead of two miles when I reached the station.

There I found I could get no new pony.