Less than two hundred yards separated the former.
With eyes now in front, now turned behind, Jesse watched the approach of his enemies.
"Damme! I believe they're mad! Why don't they open fire?" snarled the captain.
To which of the two groups the words referred, the lieutenant did not know and his recent, caustic reprimand prevented him from asking.
His mind, however, was instantly diverted by his superior.
"Ha! What's that mean?" cried the latter, then added instantly "Jesse's turning. I see. He's making for the ravine. I've been fooled!"
Almost choking with rage at the thought that he had allowed himself to be out-generaled by the notorious cutthroat, the captain rose in his stirrups, jerked his sabre from its scabbard and, pointing toward the ravine, turned to his troopers, bellowing:
"Fours oblique and ride like Hell!"
Chuckling inwardly at the choler of their commander, the cavalrymen executed the orders.
As Jesse and his pals heard the frantic command, they yelled in defiance, waving mocking goodbyes at the discomfited troopers as, leaning forward along the necks of their ponies, they raced past the head of the column of cavalrymen.