The alley was as dark as a pocket, and as Ted rode into it he well knew that he was taking his life in his hands.
At the far end of the alley he heard the beat of feet running swiftly, and fired his revolver several times in that direction, and heard a yell of pain.
"Come on, fellows," he called. "I think I got one of them that time."
As he said this they saw two dark figures dart out of the alley into the street at the end opposite that at which the boys had entered, and they spurred in that direction.
But when they came to the street there was no one in sight, but splotches of blood on the sidewalk testified to the fact that a wound had been inflicted upon some one.
They rode up and down the block, but without discovering where their attackers had taken refuge.
It was a low part of the town, and there was scarcely a house on either side of the street into which a criminal would not be taken and concealed.
"We'll have to give it up," said Ted, at last. "We could hunt here all night without being any the wiser."
Disappointed, they rode back, after tracing the bloodstains along the sidewalk to where they were lost in the dusty street.
They found that the carriage horse had been so badly hurt that its recovery was impossible, and Ted mercifully put a bullet into its brain.