On, on, steadily onward; and when the noble little steed began to flag the cruel spurs urged it on, and just as the mustang was failing, Pedro dashed into a little town and pulled up at the door of the sole inn of the village. He leaped from the back of his foaming horse. It was two hours past midnight, as he knew by the stars. All was still, and the only sound he could hear was the heavy panting of the exhausted mustang. He pulled a pistol from his pocket, and with the iron-bound butt rapped loudly on the door of the tavern. “Awake!” he cried. “Haste! for life or death hangs on speed. Awake!” And he rapped loudly. Down came the landlord and one or two servants, lights flashed about the place, and the door was flung open with a bang. “What’s the matter?” demanded a man who stood there half-dressed. “A case of life or death,” excitedly replied the boy; “on my speed depends the fate of a man and woman. Give me the fleetest mustang in your stable, take my tired one, and I will pay you what you please. But, for God’s sake lose no time.” The man had a heart. He caught up a lantern, rushed to his stable, and ran back with a wiry-looking mustang. In a moment the saddle and bridle were transferred, and Pedro leaped upon the back of a fresh horse. “How much money?” he cried. “Away!” cried the man with a heart, as he struck the mustang across the rump with a whip. Like an arrow from a bow the little tough-knot leaped away, swiftly as the wind. He was a fleet courser, and struck at once into that long easy stride that tells wonderfully in an hour. Onward, steadily onward under the silent stars, the fleet hoofs springing from the soft grass of the plain with tireless tread. Then, as the stars began to pale in the sky, two horsemen appeared in the course of the flying mustang. “Away!” shrieked Pedro. “This is for life or death!” They stood firm in his course, and, with a determined cry, the boy drew his revolvers. “Crack!” Down went one of the horsemen like a bolt. “Crack!” The steed of the other horseman was wounded, and as the rider fell to the ground, he fired upon the boy. A scream of pain from the gallant mustang told that he was hit; but still he bounded onward and dashed fleetly away for a mile. Then his strength began to fail, for his life blood was oozing forth from a cruel wound in his shoulder. With his eyes blazing, he essayed to leap onward; but he stumbled and fell, and, like a rocket, Pedro shot over him, and landed stunned and bruised on the level plain. Was his terrible ride to be in vain? Was the bandit going to kill his mother and father on the coming nightfall? Were his noble efforts to save them to go for nought? We shall see. CHAPTER XXVII. BARNEY SHEA IN HIS ELEMENT. Slap-dash into the midst of the excited and half-crazed dancers rushed the Steam Man and his four-footed friend, the Steam Horse.