The revolver landed and stopped, and then Pomp put one foot over the pommel of the saddle, the other one curved dexterously over the horse’s neck, and then Pomp went head down and made a quick grab at the butt of the weapon as it lay on the ground.
He got it, and holding it firmly in his right hand, he caught the mane with the strong fingers of his left paw, and rapidly swung himself up again.
He looked over the weapon.
It was uninjured, and two charges were still in the chambers.
In an instant the darkey was standing erect again in the saddle, and his two remaining bullets were sent shrieking into the closely-packed crowd of howling pursuers, tumbling two more of them from their horses, and creating a little panic among the band.
Then the darkey plunged down into the saddle and caught his reins up.
His horse was making splendid time running, and the gait, a long, swinging gallop, was not tiresome.
The darkey possessed very powerful eyes, but he looked in vain for anything in the shape of rescuing friends.
Nothing was to be seen but the howling enemies in his rear.
“Den dis yere am a ride for life,” said the darkey to himself, as he sat cross-legged on the saddle and proceeded to reload his weapon. “Well, I kinder guess dis chile kin do de ridin’.”