He pointed toward it, but the sentinel could not see it at all, as Ned's eyes were much the keener: But the shape grew clearer and Ned's heart throbbed.
The figure was that of a great horse, and Ned recognized Old Jack.
Nothing could have persuaded him that the faithful beast was not seeking his master, and he emitted a low soft whistle.

The horse raised his head, listened and then trotted forward.
"He is mine," said Ned, "and he knows me." "He won't be yours much longer," said the sentinel.

"Look, there's a Mexican creeping along the ground after him." 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.