With the exception of the Eastern boys, every lad in the Ranger Patrol was, as a matter of course, an efficient roper, and could handle a lariat as well as they could their ponies. Rob's command to use the rawhides, therefore, met with shouts and yells of approval. The consternation created in the ranks of Clark Jennings's raiders by the chorus of shouts and yells behind them may be imagined. "I thought you told us there wouldn't be more than a few cow-punchers here," said Bill Bender angrily, as they pressed on behind the cattle, which were now loping fast toward the mountains. "Well, I thought so. How was I to know they'd have an army out?" "That's what they've got. Hark at that!" A fresh yell from the Boy Scouts broke out behind the disguised raiders, and this time it sounded closer. "Speed up those cattle," shouted Clark Jennings desperately; "we've got to get to the mountains before they close on us." A volley of pistol shots was the answer, but the raiders fired above the cattle's backs. A fresh burst of speed followed from the frightened animals, which were now fairly stampeding. The shouts and yells and the constant cracking of pistols drove them into a frenzy of fear. On and on swept the mad advance. "If once they get to the hills, we may as well give them up!" shouted Harry, above the deafening hammer of the galloping Boy Scouts. "Yes, we'd better pump some lead into them!" yelled Bill Simmons. "On no account," shouted back Rob. "Use your ropes, but no shooting." Fast as the mavericks were urged on, they could not make the same speed over the rough ground that the ponies of their tormentors achieved. This fact naturally held back the line of disguised white raiders and permitted the Boy Scouts to close up on them. Before long they were so close that they could see the headdresses and blankets of the supposed Indians, waving above the dark line of racing steers. In the excitement of the chase, the boys had quite overlooked the fact that they were in close pursuit of some of the most desperate men in Arizona, and had carelessly come within pistol range. Suddenly a bright flash spurted from one of the raiders' revolvers, and a bullet whizzed past Rob's ear. "A miss is as good as a mile!" he yelled exultingly. The boy, to tell the truth, did not feel any fear of being "pinked" by a raider's bullet. Added to the darkness was the fact that the whole body was sweeping forward over rough ground at tremendous speed. A man, to aim true under such conditions, must have been a phenomenal marksman. "Aim low! Fire at their ponies!" he heard Clark Jennings yell suddenly. "Ah!" thought Rob. "Now you are talking. If a pony gets hit, it puts his rider out of the race." Hardly had the thought flashed through his mind before there came another spurt of fire from the raiders' line, and Rob felt his mount collapse under him.