In the excitement of the chase, the boys had quite overlooked the fact that they were in close pursuit of some of the most desperate men in Arizona, and had carelessly come within pistol range.
Suddenly a bright flash spurted from one of the raiders' revolvers, and a bullet whizzed past Rob's ear.
"A miss is as good as a mile!" he yelled exultingly.
The boy, to tell the truth, did not feel any fear of being "pinked" by a raider's bullet. Added to the darkness was the fact that the whole body was sweeping forward over rough ground at tremendous speed. A man, to aim true under such conditions, must have been a phenomenal marksman.
"Aim low! Fire at their ponies!" he heard Clark Jennings yell suddenly.
"Ah!" thought Rob. "Now you are talking. If a pony gets hit, it puts his rider out of the race."
Hardly had the thought flashed through his mind before there came another spurt of fire from the raiders' line, and Rob felt his mount collapse under him.
He leaped from the saddle just in time to avoid being crushed as the pony crashed down in a dying heap. The boy had been riding off to one side of the Scouts when his pony was shot, and in the darkness not one of them seemed to have noticed that Rob was dismounted, for yelling and cheering, the chase swept on.
"Well, I'm out of it," thought Rob dismally. "I hope they get them, though. I'd like——"
"Up with your hands, and drop that rifle!"