He hit the heavy brush at a run and was quickly swallowed up in it. He cut to a northerly direction, picking his way through the thorny branches, trying to make as little noise as possible. Were he to continue running, they had only to stop and listen to know where he was. He slowed to a walk, stopping frequently to turn an ear back in the direction where he thought the cavalrymen should be. He could hear the brush crackling as they fought their way through it. He heard shouting and laughter, as if they were hunters in pursuit of a rabbit, trying to catch it before it could drop into a hole.

He wished he were as small as a rabbit. No hole was big enough for him and Walker.

He stopped after a bit, dismounted, and led Walker into a patch of particularly heavy brush that he could not have ridden into. This, he reasoned, was as near to being a hole as he was going to find on short notice. He halted when he came to a tangle of limbs and thorns that he could not lead the horse through. He could still hear the cavalrymen. They seemed to have split up and were beating through the timber in several directions. None seemed close to James. He stood with a hand on Walker’s nose, ready to clamp the nostrils shut if the horse gave sign of nickering to the Mexicans’ animals. But Walker seemed to sense the danger, for he was nervous, rolling his eyes a little.

The sounds of pursuit gradually died away. They had probably given up and gone after other prey, James thought. But it was also possible that they were setting a trap. He decided to stay put for a while. He took a piece of jerked venison from a pack tied to his saddle and chewed on it. He was not hungry; if anything, the chase had ruined any appetite he might otherwise have had, but he knew he would be needing his strength. These were not likely to be the only Mexicans around. He wished there were some grass in this heavy thicket for Walker, but the density of the foliage during the growing season would have kept it shaded out.

James waited. The brush impeded the cold wind, but he still felt a chill.

Somewhere to the west another Texan patrol should be operating under a Captain Jones. With Mexican horsemen prowling about, however, there was no telling where the patrol might be at any given time, or if it still existed. If the men were not alert, they might have been surprised as James had been, possibly without a thicket to lose themselves in.

He wondered if such a thing might have happened to Michael.

Toward dusk he began picking his way back out of the heavy timber, leading Walker at first, eventually remounting when the brush became thin enough to ride through. He found the creek and let the horse drink his fill while James looked carefully in first one direction, then another. He saw nothing to indicate that the soldiers were still anywhere around.