A third Mexican threw his lasso, but the noose only touched his flying tail.

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.