would, and fight if they must. The only one among them who was in no doubt as to what he should do was Bojarques. With the first hoof-beat he promptly turned and ran.
The cowboys thundered by, passing the Mexicans grouped by the roadside without a glance, for they knew well enough whose horse kicked up the dust ahead.
Ignacio had no need to look over his shoulder to know that they were gaining. He rode far over his horse's neck, sick with fear. The hoof-beats behind him were only a little louder than the pounding of his heart.
When his winded horse began to stumble, he cast a terrified glance over his shoulder. The gap was closing fast, and his horse's breath was coming in sobs.
In front of him was a long stretch of ankle-deep sand. Once, twice, his horse's knees gave way. Its wind was almost gone!
In a frenzy of desperation he looked about for some way of escape other than the road. The torneo grew like a hedge on either side, dense, impassable, its thorns ready to tear his flesh to shreds if he tried to force it.
And then, Jesus Maria, if only he could
