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But
he
has
no
time
to
think
even
of
her
.
To
his
ignoble
nature
life
is
dearer
than
love
.
He
fancies
that
life
is
still
before
him
;
but
it
is
no
fancy
that
tells
him
,
death
is
behind
--
fast
travelling
upon
his
tracks
!
The
murderer
makes
haste
--
all
the
haste
that
can
be
taken
out
of
a
Mexican
mustang
--
swift
as
the
steeds
of
Arabia
,
from
which
it
can
claim
descent
.
Ere
this
the
creature
should
be
tired
.
Since
the
morning
it
has
made
more
than
a
score
miles
--
most
of
them
going
at
a
gallop
.
But
it
shows
no
signs
of
fatigue
.
Like
all
its
race
--
tough
as
terriers
--
it
will
go
fifty
--
if
need
be
a
hundred
--
without
staggering
in
its
tracks
.
What
a
stroke
of
good
fortune
--
that
exchange
of
horses
with
the
Mexican
maiden
!
So
reflects
its
rider
.
But
for
it
he
might
now
be
standing
under
the
sombre
shadow
of
the
live
oak
,
in
the
stern
presence
of
a
judge
and
jury
,
abetted
and
urged
on
to
convict
him
,
by
the
less
scrupulous
Lynch
and
his
cohort
of
Regulators
.
He
is
no
longer
in
dread
of
such
a
destiny
.
He
begins
to
fancy
himself
clear
of
all
danger
.
He
glances
back
over
the
plain
,
and
sees
his
pursuers
still
far
behind
him
.
He
looks
forward
,
and
,
in
the
dark
line
looming
above
the
bright
green
of
the
savannah
,
descries
the
chapparal
.
He
has
no
doubt
of
being
able
to
reach
it
,
and
then
his
chance
of
escape
will
be
almost
certain
.
Even
if
he
should
not
succeed
in
concealing
himself
within
the
thicket
,
who
is
there
to
overtake
him
?
He
believes
himself
to
be
mounted
on
the
fastest
horse
that
is
making
the
passage
of
the
prairie
.
Who
,
then
,
can
come
up
with
him
?
