THE PROMISED LAND There was no thought of submission in Alcatraz at this moment, though never for an instant did he under-rate the power of man.

To Alcatraz the Mexican was the type, and Cordova had seemed to unite in himself many powers--strength like a herd of bulls, endurance greater than the contemptible patience of the burro, speed like the lightning which winks in the sky one instant and shatters the cottonwood tree the next.

Such as he were men, creatures who conquer for the sake of conquest and who torment for the love of pain.

His fear equalled his hatred, and his hatred made him shake with fever.
The horseman had vanished but it was not well to trust to mere distance.
Had he not heard, more than once, the gun speaking from the hand of Cordova, and presently the wounded hawk fluttered out of the sky and dropped at the feet of the man?
So Alcatraz kept on running.

Besides, he rejoiced in the gallop.