Later that day, Cristobol Coinhara was galloping down the path after his escaped captives. Finally spotting them about three hundred yards ahead, he raised his revolver and fired into the air. Mark, who was lagging behind now because of his injury, yelled “Give me a gun and I’ll hold them off!” “Wrong, boy! You’re not going to die like a hero if there’s a better shot with you! You go on and I’ll get them!” Dameon shouted back.
Dameon dropped behind a nearby tree while the others went on. Readying his gun, he fired at one hundred yards. As the result showed itself, he remarked “I hated to do that, but at least it died instantly. No, he’s jumped free. I hoped that wouldn’t happen. Time to leave the area.” He pocketed his gun as he said this, and, keeping within the tree cover, he hurried to keep up with the others. Several yards farther along, he found Mark sitting on a stump. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you with the others?” Dameon shouted.
“I ran out of breath!” Mark yelled back “What do you think!”
“Well, how ironic” Dameon answered sarcastically “The one who starts a marathon is also the only one who knows he can’t make it!”
“What was I supposed to-look out!” Mark screamed. Dameon grabbed him and pulled him out of the way just in time, feeling a bullet graze his back as he did so.
“Well, there’s one thing that’s certain.” Dameon announced “You’re probably as fast as you always were, but you’ll never keep it up for long. That’s the only thing wrong with your father: He can’t stand endurance runs.”
Keeping on the edge of the path, the two fugitives stayed under the trees the whole time while on the run. An hour later, Mark collapsed. “You stick it out longer than your father can, at least. Here, I’ll carry you. Let’s hope those men haven’t caught up with the rest of our group.” As the evening approached, and they were now pursuing their enemies, Dameon slung Mark onto his back and stepped onto the path, walking until the sun went down. “Don’t worry” he said “No sensible person would keep going now. Here, I’ll take first watch, though why I’m doing all this I don’t understand. What’ve you ever done for me? Oh yes, soaked my boots, that’s right. Where’s your father when I need him? Miles ahead and convinced he’s saving me from hanging, so maybe I do owe him this much.” Dameon muttered as he built a fire.
In truth, at that moment, Joseph was sleeping beside his own fire about twenty miles ahead of Dameon and Mark. He was lost in a dream, one which involved a tall man with a black beard, who looked like a Spaniard, who was brandishing a pistol. Without thinking, Joseph drew his own pistol. But before he could fire, the Spaniard had changed into Joseph’s friend Dameon, who said “No! Don’t fire! The time for that has passed. You are to go on. You are to go on without firing another shot. Make the best of your time you have left to prepare for the time when you must meet our Lord. We will keep your boys safe.”
Then, suddenly, Dameon faded away and Mark appeared in his place. “Don’t you worry, father. It’s a great new adventure. Nothing bad ever happens and it lasts forever. You just have to prepare for it.”
Then Dameon reappeared. “Remember! You must go on without a fight!”