The new arrival was Herr Muller's locoed horse, now, seemingly, quite recovered from its "late indisposition." It whinnied in a low tone as it spied Nat's pony, and coming alongside, nuzzled up against it.
To Nat's joy, Bismark showed no signs of being scared of him, and allowed the boy to handle him. But in the few, brief seconds that had elapsed while this was taking place, Col. Morello's gang had drawn perilously near. The trampling and crashing as they rode through the woods was quite distinct now.
"After him, boys," Nat could hear the colonel saying, "that boy knows our hiding place. We've got to get him or get out of the country."
"We'll get him all right, colonel," Nat heard Manuello answer confidently.
"Yep. He won't go far on that foundered pony," came another voice.
In those few, tense moments of breathing space Nat rapidly thought out a plan of escape. Deftly he slipped the saddle and bridle off the outlaw's pony, and transferred them to Bismark's back.
Then, as the chase drew closer, he gave the trembling pony a final whack on the rump with the quirt. The little animal sprang forward, its hoofs making a tremendous noise among the loose rocks on the hillside.
Half frantic with fear, its alarm overcame its spent vitality, and it clattered off.
"Wow! There he goes!"
"Yip-ee-ee! After him, boys!"