A fellow tried to stop me, but I rode him down." And then followed a neck-or-nothing race through the pass, which was more like a furrow than a road, steep, stony, and full of holes, and being overshadowed by trees, as dark as chaos.

Only by the marvellous cleverness of our unshod horses and almost miraculous good luck did we escape dire disaster, if not utter destruction, for a single stumble might have been fatal.
But Carmen, who made the running, knew what he was about.

His seeming rashness was the truest prudence.

Our pursuers would either ride as hard as we did or they would not; in the latter event we should have a good start and be beyond their ken before they emerged from the pass; in the former, there was always the off chance of one of the leading horsemen coming to grief and some of the others falling over him, thereby delaying them past the possibility of overtaking us.
Which of the contingencies came to pass, or whether the guerillas, not having the fear of death behind them, rode less recklessly than we did, we could form no idea.

But their shouts gradually became fainter; when we reached the llanos they were no more to be heard, and when the moon rose an hour later none of our pursuers were to be seen.