Ted saw that if he was to escape being murdered now was his chance, and turned to his pony.
As he did so the Indians let out a whoop that frightened Bingo almost into a fit, and, wheeling suddenly, he dashed away, almost dragging the reins from Ted's grasp.
But as he did so Ted was by his side, running with one hand clutching the long mane.
It was rough running over the rocks and hummocks with which the bank of the stream was strewn, but Ted seemed to fly through space, so lightly did his feet touch the ground.
Rifle balls were now singing through the air above Ted, and on every side, which only served to increase the speed with which Bingo was running away from his enemies, the Indians.
Bingo had been trained in New Mexico, Arizona, and Texas to regard the Indian as his natural enemy, and whenever he smelled one it was his most earnest desire to get as far away as possible in the shortest space of time.
This was fortunate for Ted also.
While it was not an easy matter for Ted to mount while the pony was wheeling away from him, Ted was well educated in the cavalry drill as used at West Point, and mounting a running horse was one of the easiest of the many equestrian tricks with which he was familiar.
When he thought he was far enough away from the Indians not to afford them too good an aim for his body, he placed his hand on the cantle of the saddle, gave a smart upward spring, and the impetus of his running and the pony's speed took him through the air like a bird, and he settled in the saddle as easily, almost, as if he would have sat down in a chair.
As he reached the saddle he, for the first time, threw a glance over his shoulder.