It was true that he remained rooted to the saddle, a lank, still heroic figure, alternately grasping his hatchet and gun with a kind of spasmodic regularity.

How long he would have continued this would never be known, for the next moment, with a deafening crash, the herd broke through the brush, and, swerving at the right of the lagoon, bore down directly upon them.

All further doubt or hesitation on their part was stopped.

The farseeing, sagacious Mexican plug with a terrific snort wheeled and fled furiously with his rider.
Moved, no doubt, by touching fidelity, Clarence's humbler team-horse instantly followed.

In a few moments those devoted animals struggled neck to neck in noble emulation.
"What are we goin' off this way for ?" gasped the simple Clarence.
"Peyton and Gildersleeve are back there--and they'll see us," gasped Jim in reply.