If they saw him they could easily ride him down, and what chance would he have with only four bullets in his pouch?
Or rather, what chance would he have if the pouch contained a hundred?
The only thing that favored him was the creek which ran in the way that he wanted to go.

He kept in the timber that lined its banks, and, so long as he had this refuge, he felt comparatively safe, since the Mexicans, obviously, were not looking for him.

Yet they often came perilously near.

Once, a large band rode down to the creek to water their horses, when Ned was not fifty feet distant.

He instantly lay flat among some bushes, and did not move.