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day was almost spent when, from a slight hill, they came in sight of San Antonio, the setting sun gilding the tops of the church steeples, and making the sluggish river appear like a stream of gold.

"No white mustang yet," said Dan. "I reckon we might as well give up the chase and go right into the city."

"Not yet!" cried Poke Stover, pointing with his hand to the northwestward. "Thar ye are, Dan!"

Dan looked in the direction, and in a patch of cottonwoods made out a white object, moving slowly along. It was the mustang they were after, so tired out that he could scarcely move from one spot to the next.

"We've got him now!" ejaculated the youth, enthusiastically. "And just as I was ready to give up, too! Come on!"

Away he swept, with all the quickness of which his own wearied steed was capable, and Poke