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. Texas saw that his time for vengeance on his too persistent follower had come. Whirling around, he measured his distance accurately, and drove his iron-shod heels into the bay's flank. Again came the flying heels, this time on Cardenas's bridle arm, and broke it. With a fierce curse the Mexican changed the bridle to his other hand, and tried vainly to control his plunging horse. Wherever he plunged Texas followed, and his swift heels rattled on the unhappy bay's ribs and his master's limbs indiscriminately. At last no bay was there to receive them. He had beaten an ignominious retreat, and was carrying his helpless rider across the prairie as fast as his demoralized condition would allow. As soon as the foe was fairly routed, Texas recovered his equanimity and became as gentle as a lamb. John pursued his journey without further interruption, exulting in the victory and lavishing praises and caresses on the victor, assuring him over and over again that he was worthy of the "lone star" on his forehead and of the land whose name he bore. They reached the Texan camp at sundown, and John disburdened himself of his great news. It was to the effect that Santa Anna had divided his army, part of them to cross the river at a ford several miles below and strike Houston in flank while Santa Anna attacked him in front. "And they ain't more'n two to one now, General," concluded John, eagerly, "and I know you won't retreat for them." "Not a step, my boy," replied Houston. "We'll not retreat--we'll fight."