CHAPTER XXVII.
THE MEXICAN ARMY AT SAN ANTONIO.
The day was almost spent when, from a slight hill, they came in sight of San Antonio, the setting sun gilding the tops of the church steeples, and making the sluggish river appear like a stream of gold.
"No white mustang yet," said Dan. "I reckon we might as well give up the chase and go right into the city."
"Not yet!" cried Poke Stover, pointing with his hand to the northwestward. "Thar ye are, Dan!"
Dan looked in the direction, and in a patch of cottonwoods made out a white object, moving slowly along. It was the mustang they were after, so tired out that he could scarcely move from one spot to the next.
"We've got him now!" ejaculated the youth, enthusiastically. "And just as I was ready to give up, too! Come on!"
Away he swept, with all the quickness of which his own wearied steed was capable, and Poke Stover followed him. The white mustang saw them coming, and set off into the timber on a feeble run.
The course of the pursued creature was around the northern approach to San Antonio and then toward the Medina River. Many times they thought to give up the chase, but then the white mustang seemed so near and so ready to drop that they kept on until the river bank was gained. Here the mustang disappeared into a pine brake; and it may be as well to add, right here, that neither the Radburys nor Poke Stover ever saw him again.
"Where is he?" asked Dan, a few minutes after the animal had disappeared. "Do you think he leaped into the water?"