And well was it that the old Indian fighter had given the advice.
With feet braced stiff, the ponies struck the ground.
There was a snapping and cracking and the poor beasts sank down, their legs broken by the awful force of the impact.
Yet even as they fell, the outlaws, prepared by the warning of Comanche Tony, shot over their heads, landing in the bushes unscathed save for scratches and the jolting they received as they struck.
And as they picked themselves up, they heard the captain of the troopers roar:
"Find the horses! Jesse and the bunch'll be near 'em. No man could take that plunge and come out whole."
"That's where your wrong, old top," grinned the world-world famous desperado. "Quick boys! drop on your hands and knees! We'll work up the ravine a couple of rods from the ponies and then strike for the side from which they jumped. Careful, now, we won the race. But if the troopers or Injuns get their peepers on one of us, its death to the whole bunch!"
DEW DROP AGAIN TO THE RESCUE.