“Yes. Just below here it widens out and is not over a foot and a half deep. I will show you the spot. And we will be certain to head off our quarry, for he cannot turn back on that side.”
Without giving Colonel Mendix time to discover them they drew back behind the bushes and followed the sheriff’s lead along the watercourse. In less than five minutes they came to the spot he had mentioned. Here the stream was three times its natural width and one could have almost leaped from rock to rock without wetting a foot.
The horses went over readily enough, although they were dry, and longed to drink. But they could not stop to humor the beasts. They reached the opposite shore and drew up behind a convenient bowlder.
A clatter of hoofs was heard, and an instant later Colonel Mendix dashed past on his horse, rider and animal leaving a stream of wet behind them.
“Stop!” commanded the sheriff again. “You can’t escape us now!”
The Spaniard muttered something in his native tongue, and went on faster than ever, with the others in hot pursuit.
“He intends to escape if he can,” said Gus. He was completely fagged out and ready to drop from his saddle.
“Come on!”
It was the cry of the sheriff as he made after Colonel Mendix, riding as he had never ridden before. He was warmed up to the chase, and meant to end it in a very few minutes.