"It's a horse's hoofs on the trail," answered Dan. "Somebody is coming this way."
He ran out of the bushes into which the wild turkeys had fallen, and gazed along the road. Just above was a curve, and around this came sweeping something which caused his heart to bound with delight.
It was the white mustang.
"By hookey!" came from Poke Stover. "It's him, eh, Dan?"
"Yes. Oh, if only I had my lasso!" For that article was attached to the saddle of the mustang in the timber. Dan was on the point of crossing the trail when Stover caught him by the arm.
"Don't scare the pony—" began the frontiersman, but he was too late. The white mustang had caught sight of Dan and he came to a halt instantly. Then he reared and plunged and swept by, and the last they saw of him, he was running toward San Antonio at the top of his speed.
"We've seen him, and that's all the good it will do us," remarked Poke Stover, as Dan gazed blankly up the road, and then at his companion.
"Can't we catch him, Poke? Oh, we must!"
"Might as well try to catch a streak o' greased lightning, lad."
"I don't know about that. He looked tired, as if he had been running a long while."
