"They are on their ponies, and they are galloping all over the plain," said Bill Breakstone. "Some of them are bound to find us, but you’ve the rifle, and I’ve the pistol!" They ran with all their might, but from two or three points the ominous beat of hoofs came closer. They were devoutly glad now of the rain and the shadowed moon that hid them from all eyes except those very near. Both Phil and Breakstone stumbled at intervals, but they would recover quickly, and continue at undiminished, speed for the woods, which were now showing in a blacker line against the black sky. There was a sudden swift beat of hoofs, and two warriors galloped almost upon them. Both the warriors uttered shouts at sight of the fugitives, and fired. But in the darkness and hurry they missed. Breakstone fired in return, and one of the Indians fell from his pony. Phil was about to fire at the other, but the Comanche made his pony circle so rapidly that in the faint light he could not get any kind of aim. Then he saw something dark shoot out from the warrior’s hand and uncoil in the air. A black, snakelike loop fell over Bill Breakstone’s head, settled down on his shoulders, and was suddenly drawn taut, as the mustang settled back on his haunches. Bill Breakstone, caught in the lasso, was thrown to the ground by the violent jerk, but with the stopping of the horse came Phil’s chance. He fired promptly, and the Comanche fell from the saddle. The frightened mustang ran away, just as Breakstone staggered dizzily to his feet. Phil seized him by the arm. [Illustration: "A black, snakelike loop fell over Bill Breakstone’s head"] "Come, Bill, come!" he cried. "The woods are not thirty yards away!" "Once more unto the breach, or rather the woods!" exclaimed the half-unconscious man. "Lead on, Prince Hal, and I follow! That’s mixed, but I mean well!" They ran for the protecting woods, Breakstone half supported by Phil, and behind them they now heard many cries and the tread of many hoofs. A long, black, snake-like object followed Bill Breakstone, trailing through the grass and weeds. They had gone half way before Phil noticed it. Then he snatched out his knife and severed the lasso. It fell quivering, as if it were a live thing, and lay in a wavy line across the grass. But the fugitives were now at the edge of the woods, and Bill Breakstone’s senses came back to him in full. "Well done again, Sir Philip of the Knife and the Ready Mind," he whispered. "I now owe two lives to you. I suppose that if I were a cat I would in the end owe you nine. But suppose we turn off here at an angle to the right, and then farther on we’ll take another angle. I think we’re saved. They can’t follow us on horses in these dense woods, and in all this darkness."