He looked round. José Cardenas had risen, and his hand was on the pistol in his belt. "It's time we were all going," called out John, coolly. "Wake the others, _camarada_, and saddle up while I give Texas another drink." Cardenas hesitated. He looked at the boy sitting carelessly sidewise on his horse, he looked at the fine silver-mounted saddle and bridle lying under the tree, and his suspicion seemed absurd. He removed his hand from the pistol and turned to rouse his comrades. With one far-reaching bound, Texas and his rider were over the creek and dashing through the woods beyond, a jubilant shout ringing back: "_Adios, camaradas!_ Any message for General Houston?" The boyish bravado had like to have cost him dear. Before the words were well out of his mouth a bullet from Cardenas's pistol showered the leaves from the bough just over his head. On he dashed, a fusillade of pistol-shots ringing out behind him. But he did not mind them; he was fast leaving them behind. His horse was in perfect condition, and as John felt the springy stride beneath him, he felt sure he could trust Texas to carry him safe out of danger. "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.