The reader will remember Pedro, the stable-boy, who was sent by Jack to carry the information to Harry Hale that resulted in the fight with the teamsters and their red and white guards.

After performing his errand, Pedro mounted his hardy little mustang and set off for the southwest to visit his parents, whom he had not seen for a year.

They lived on the outskirts of a small village, just about fifty miles from the spot he started from, and as his tough little pony was fresh, Pedro expected to do the distance in seven or eight hours, with short rests.

He longed to see his parents, and looked forward to the meeting with joy.

He rode all day at a steady pace that covered a great deal of ground, and at night fetched up before the little door-yard fronting his home.

The peaceful-looking cottage was there, but no one came eagerly forth in answer to his blithe hail, and a strange misgiving made the blood grow cold and chill around the boy’s heart as he leaped from the back of his jaded steed.

He rushed up to the door.

Locked!

He shouted.

No sound came back for some time, and then a neighbor heard his voice and in a moment several forms came toward him in the darkness.

“It is Pedro!” they cried.

“Poor Pedro!” said one.

“Unhappy boy!” said another.

“What do you mean?” cried the perplexed Pedro. “Where is my mother?—my father?”

“Gone,” they sorrowfully said.

“Gone!” cried Pedro. “Dead?”

“No,” said an old man, “but they might better be dead. They have been taken off by the outlaw and his band.”

“Sinyaro?”

“Yes, the terrible Sinyaro, who swears that your father has money concealed. ’Twas but yesterday that he sent us your poor father’s right ear, demanding that we send him a hundred dollars for each of the prisoners, or else he will slay them by sunset to-morrow. Alas! we are all too poor to raise that amount.”

“To-morrow night?” gasped Pedro. “The time is short.”

“Aye! and the bandit swears that he will bring them both to the edge of the village and slay them before our very eyes,” said the old man.

“Hush,” cried Pedro; “let me think a moment. Ha! I have it; Harry Hale—the Steam Man—the Steam Horse—all or any can save them if I can get them there in time.”

“The Steam Horse!” said one. “The boy’s brain is turned.”

“He talks of Steam Men,” said another, in pitying tones. “The shock has been too much for him.”

And they regarded him with glances of commiseration, while he leaned his head on his hand and tried to collect his thoughts.

The time was too short to ride the distance, find the parties he wanted, and get them back on time, and Pedro could not help shuddering.

It was a slim chance, but he had no other choice.

But how was he to ride back that long fifty miles?

One horse, nor two ordinary, would be able to do the distance in the time that he wished to span the weary track, and yet he must do the distance within five hours to allow of sufficient time to get the rescuers to the village.

He turned to a tall, slim youth who stood at his side.

“Carlos?”

“Speak.”

“You have a pair of fleet mustangs?”

“Yes, and they are at your service,” said the youth.

“And yourself also?” asked Pedro.

“Command me,” said Carlos.

“Ride with one mustang to the next town, ten miles away,” said Pedro. “Leave the other mustang for me. I am faint with hunger, and when I have eaten I will mount your mustang and ride to where you are with all speed, and you must have a fleet mustang ready for me to leap upon when I dash in.”

“What would you do?”

“Save my parents’ life,” said the brave boy. “Before sunset to-morrow rescuers shall be here. Away!”

Carlos vanished, carrying with him a small sum of money to pay for the mustang he was to have ready at the next village.

“Who will give me food?” asked the hungry boy, and half a dozen eagerly tried to lead him away to their humble cots, while others led forth the fleet young mustang he was to ride.

He partook of a hearty meal, and then, with the good wishes of the villagers, leaped upon the mustang and yelled:

“Away! for life or death!”

Like a rocket the fleet mustang went on the track.

Onward, with fearful bounds, the ground fairly gliding beneath the flying hoofs of the fleet steed; through valleys, through groves, over marshlands and meadows, past tall trees flitting like ghosts in the starlight, and in an incredibly short space of time the gallant little animal dashed into the village, where Carlos stood holding the bridle of a fresh courier.

“Thanks,” cried Pedro, and with one flying leap he was upon the back of the other mustang.

“Away,” he cried, and drove his spurs deep into the side of the steed.

With an angry snort the mustang dashed madly away, the strong hand of the reckless rider guiding him with ease and skill.

With frightful bounds the incensed steed leaped over the irregular ground, and in a few minutes his magnificent burst of speed brought him out upon the level plain, where the mustang was pulled down to a long, swinging gallop, that covered the ground very rapidly.

On, on, steadily onward; and when the noble little steed began to flag the cruel spurs urged it on, and just as the mustang was failing, Pedro dashed into a little town and pulled up at the door of the sole inn of the village.

He leaped from the back of his foaming horse.

It was two hours past midnight, as he knew by the stars.

All was still, and the only sound he could hear was the heavy panting of the exhausted mustang.

He pulled a pistol from his pocket, and with the iron-bound butt rapped loudly on the door of the tavern.

“Awake!” he cried. “Haste! for life or death hangs on speed. Awake!”

And he rapped loudly.

Down came the landlord and one or two servants, lights flashed about the place, and the door was flung open with a bang.

“What’s the matter?” demanded a man who stood there half-dressed.

“A case of life or death,” excitedly replied the boy; “on my speed depends the fate of a man and woman. Give me the fleetest mustang in your stable, take my tired one, and I will pay you what you please. But, for God’s sake lose no time.”

The man had a heart.

He caught up a lantern, rushed to his stable, and ran back with a wiry-looking mustang.

In a moment the saddle and bridle were transferred, and Pedro leaped upon the back of a fresh horse.

“How much money?” he cried.

“Away!” cried the man with a heart, as he struck the mustang across the rump with a whip.

Like an arrow from a bow the little tough-knot leaped away, swiftly as the wind.

He was a fleet courser, and struck at once into that long easy stride that tells wonderfully in an hour.

Onward, steadily onward under the silent stars, the fleet hoofs springing from the soft grass of the plain with tireless tread.

Then, as the stars began to pale in the sky, two horsemen appeared in the course of the flying mustang.

“Away!” shrieked Pedro. “This is for life or death!”

They stood firm in his course, and, with a determined cry, the boy drew his revolvers.

“Crack!”

Down went one of the horsemen like a bolt.

“Crack!”

The steed of the other horseman was wounded, and as the rider fell to the ground, he fired upon the boy.

A scream of pain from the gallant mustang told that he was hit; but still he bounded onward and dashed fleetly away for a mile.

Then his strength began to fail, for his life blood was oozing forth from a cruel wound in his shoulder.

With his eyes blazing, he essayed to leap onward; but he stumbled and fell, and, like a rocket, Pedro shot over him, and landed stunned and bruised on the level plain.

Was his terrible ride to be in vain? Was the bandit going to kill his mother and father on the coming nightfall? Were his noble efforts to save them to go for nought? We shall see.