The Lavaca was the next stream; after that the Navidad; and after that, but far, the Colorado. The yellow pony was streaked with sweat-soaked dust; from his lips and neck and flanks the soapy lather drifted in shreds of foam. But he was breathing without effort, he was strong on his legs, his stride faltered not; and as long as he sweat freely and did not stumble, he was good for many a mile yet.
Occasionally Ernest pulled him down to fast walk and amble, so that he might blow and rest his muscles. Once they halted at a ford, and the pony drank a few swallows, but only a few, to clear his mouth and throat of dust. Then they trotted on, and presently resumed the steady gallop.
The sun set; the golden glow faded from the west and the stars appeared. Through the gloam they sped, pounding away, with Burnam’s ever nearer. Go it, little horse! Prick your ears, hopefully; and go it!
Those last ten miles were the hardest of all. Not of late had Ernest rasped forth his message, with dry tongue and dusty throat. He had met nobody, he had passed no more ranches. His face burned with the breeze and the flying grit, he was blistered from the wet saddle, the rifle scabbard had chafed the inside of his thigh raw, and the stirrups had gouged his insteps to the bone, he thought. And he was hungry, being dinnerless and supperless.
Low to the horizon had dropped the Great Dipper, and he imagined that folks must be long abed, when he sensed the approach to the Colorado. The mist of the bottom-lands and of the river smote him coolly. Before, he could see the line of cottonwoods and other trees, marking the river course. The pony pricked his ears afresh, as if he, too, knew that the goal of the eager race was close at hand.
Ernest rose in his stirrups, and straightened, to make a gallant finish.
“Duke!” he cried; and the nervy little pony leaped with all his reserve strength. Dimly loomed beside the road the ranch outbuildings, and at sound of the thudding hoofs the Burnam hounds burst into fierce challenge.
Before the block-house Ernest pulled his pony to its haunches, and while his mount panted under him he whooped loudly amidst the angry clamor of the dogs. Dark was the Burnam place, for Texas settlers went early to bed.
“Hello! Captain! Oh, captain!” shouted Ernest, his efforts tearing his throat.
Now at last a voice hailed him from a window.