"José Cardenas little thought I could ride barebacked as well as on the finest Spanish saddle," he chuckled to himself, "or he wouldn't have been so particular about my unsaddling. Ha! ha! what was I born and raised on a ranch for?"
He pressed on as fast as due care for his horse allowed. He must not exhaust Texas, for he bore news of vast importance which General Houston must hear before the sun went down. And should his horse fail him, or any unforeseen obstacle interrupt his journey, a glorious chance for victory would be lost to his countrymen, and might never be regained.
He had lost all fear of being overtaken by his late comrades, when the sound of a horse's hoofs behind him caught his attention. He checked Texas and listened.
Whoever followed him was coming at furious speed. Should he wait and see who it was? No; it was too perilous a risk. He must on.
He pressed Texas into a swifter and ever swifter gallop, but the noise of pursuit grew louder, and was evidently gaining on him. He looked back. His pursuer was José Cardenas, mounted on a powerful bay, and coming up hand over hand. Where could he have got that horse? There was none in the band to match Texas. Ah! the ranch near the creek! Cardenas had helped himself to the ranchero's best steed to catch him.
What on earth should he do? He could not distance his pursuer, and there was no chance for concealment on the open prairie. He was armed, but so was Cardenas; and in a personal encounter he knew well his slight boyish frame would stand no chance with the stalwart Mexican. But he would not yield his life and fail in his mission if one lucky shot could save him. He would have time for but one.
He felt for his pistol. It was gone. How, or when, or where he could not guess, unless it had fallen from his belt when his horse jumped the creek. He was at the mercy of his foe, and well he knew that foe would have no mercy.
Now Texas had other peculiarities besides his fiendish temper. One was a great dislike to being followed too closely. The sound of hoofs clattering close behind him rasped his nerves, and he generally let it be known. John saw that his savage temper was rising now. It had never troubled him, but other individuals, equine and human, had had frequent occasion to regret it, and the man and horse now in their rear would probably have the same.
The mustang's ears were laid flat on his head, his lips curled back in a fiendish grin, and the whites of his eyes showed prominently. And, to John's horror, he began to slacken his pace. In vain he urged him on. Slower and slower went Texas, and faster and faster came José Cardenas and his bay.
Now they were alongside, and Cardenas's hand was extended to grasp John's collar and drag him from his horse. On the whole, he preferred not to shoot the muchacho, but to carry him back for Santa Anna's judgment.