Flinging themselves forward on the necks of their steeds, who were as fleet as those of their pursuers, with the brush swaying on all sides, they became such bad targets that only chance or wonderful skill could tumble them to the earth. Gleeson was so close to the savage he had singled out as his special target, and his own steed coursed so swiftly through the bush, that it looked as if he would down his man. The fugitive was hardly visible, as he stretched forward, not upon his horse's neck, but along the further side and almost under it. About the only part of his person within reach was his foot, the toes of which were curved over the spine of his animal, and his left arm, which clasped the neck from below. It was useless, therefore, for the Texan to try any sort of aim, and when he discharged his pistol now and then, until the chambers were emptied, it was with the same hope as before, that by accident one of the missiles would reach home. But this little amusement was not to be entirely on the side of the pursuer. Suddenly there was a flash beneath the neck of the mustang, a resounding report, and the bullet grazed the temple of the enthusiastic cowboy. "Well done, old fellow," he muttered, shoving his smaller weapon in his holster, and bringing his Winchester round in front; "it makes things more lively when they are not one-sided." He bent forward, and, sighting as best he could, fired. A whinnying scream rang out in the confusion, and the mustang plunged forward on his knees and rolled over on his side, stone dead because of the bullet that had bored its way through his brain. Such a mishap would have been fatal to the majority of riders, but the wonderful activity of the Comanche saved him from harm because of the fall of his animal. He struck the ground on his feet, and showed a tremendous burst of speed, as he took up the interrupted flight of his horse, keeping straight on, without darting to the right or left. "I've got you now," exclaimed the exultant Texan, holding the nose of his animal toward him. Astonishing as was the fleetness of the Comanche, it could not equal that of the intelligent mustang, that knew what was needed from him. He wanted no guidance from his rider, who was therefore left free to manipulate his Winchester as best he could with the brush whipping about him. All at once the gun was brought to his shoulder, but, before it was fired, the Indian dropped his head, dodged to one side, and vanished as if by magic. Where he had gone was a mystery to the Texan, whose steed checked himself so suddenly that the rider was nearly thrown from his saddle. There was so much noise and confusion that Gleeson could not hear clearly, but something caused him to turn his head, under the impression that he detected a movement near at hand. He was just in time to catch a glimpse of the Comanche, darting through the bush in a direction almost the opposite of that which he had been following so long.