Nerved by the fear of a terrible fate, did the escaping captive urge
forward her swift horse, encouraging the animal both with words and
caresses.
He knew her voice, and did his best. He seemed to know, also, why he
was thus put to the top of his speed, for under such circumstances the
horse seems to be stirred by something more than instinct.
The one ridden by Clara Blackadder was a hunter, of the best Kentucky
breed, and might have distanced any of the mustangs mounted by the
Indians.
But there was another of the same race among his pursuers--one superior
in size, strength, and swiftness even to himself. It was the horse that
had belonged to the young lady's brother, appropriated by Blue Dick, and
now following with the mulatto upon his back.
She did not know who. She only knew that one of the pursuers was coming
close after her, and saw that the rest had fallen far behind. But, to
her terror, she saw that this single horseman was gradually gaining upon
her.
Had she been a strong man and armed, she might have reined up, and given
him combat. But she knew that the weakest of the Indian warriors would
be more than a match for her: and, if overtaken, she must succumb.
There was no hope for her, but in the swiftness of her horse; and once
more she spoke words of encouragement, patting him on the neck with her
little hands, while striking the heel of her tiny boot against his
sides.
The Kentucky blood, answering to this urgency, did his best; and
galloped onward, as if his own life, as well as that of the rider,
depended upon his speed.
It was all to no purpose. Ere the fleeing girl had made another mile
across the prairie, the close clattering of hoofs gave warning that the
pursuer was rapidly drawing near; and, giving a glance black, she saw
him within less than a hundred lengths from the heels of her own horse.
She saw, besides, what rendered her fears yet more agonising, that it
was no Indian who was thus hotly pursuing her, but a man in a cotton
shirt--he who was once a slave on her father's plantation. It was the
Yellow Chief divested of his Indian habiliments, whom now, from what she
had heard, she must believe to be her brother.
And a brother so cruel--so unnatural! She trembled at the thought of
the encounter!
It could not be avoided. In ten minutes more he was riding by her side.
Clutching the bridle-rein of her horse, he drew the animal down upon its
haunches--at once putting an end to the pursuit.
"No, no, Miss Clarey!" he tauntingly cried out, "you shan't escape me so
easily. You and I don't part company, till you've served me and mine as
I've served you and yours. It makes no matter if I _am_ your brother,
as Old Nan says. You've got to come back with me, and see how _you'll_
like being a slave. We keep slaves among the Indians, just as you proud
planters of Mississippi. Come along with me, and see!"
The young lady offered no resistance; nor did she say a word in reply.
From what she had already seen and experienced, she knew it would be
idle; and resigning the rein, she permitted her horse to be controlled
by him who had so easily overtaken her.
Turning about upon the prairie, captor and captive commenced retracing
their tracks; the former sitting erect in his saddle, exultant of
success; the latter with bent attitude, and eyes regarding the ground in
a look of despair.
The Indians soon came up with their chief; and the captive was conducted
back toward the scene where she had witnessed so much suffering.
And what was to be _her_ torture? She could not tell. She did not even
think of it. Her spirit was crushed beyond the power of reflection.
The chase had occupied about half an hour. It took over twice the time
for the Indians to return. The sun had already sunk low over the ridge
of the Rocky Mountains, and it was twilight within the little valley.
But, as they advanced, there was light enough for them to distinguish
the other captives still lying on the grass, and their comrades keeping
guard over them.
So thought the Yellow Chief, as, on reaching the crest of the ridge that
ran transversely across the entrance, he glanced up the gorge, and saw
the different groups to all appearance as he had left them.
Riding in the front, he was about to descend the slope, when an
exclamation from the rear caused him to rein up, and look back.
Several of the Indians, who had also mounted the ridge, were seen halted
upon its summit, as if something was causing them surprise or alarm.
It could not be anything seen in the encampment. Their faces were not
turned in that direction, but along the mountain line to the northward.
The chief, suddenly wheeling about, trotted back to the summit; and
there saw what was causing surprise to his followers, and what now,
also, astonished himself. Making out from the mountain, and scattering
over the prairie, was a troop of horses without riders. In such a place
they might have passed for wild steeds, with some mules among them, for
they saw also these. But they were near enough nor to be mistaken for
_mustangs_.
Besides, it was seen that they all carried saddles on their backs, and
bridles over their necks--the reins of most of them trailing down to the
grass.
The red marauders knew at a glance what it meant. It could be nothing
else than the _cavallada_ of some camp that had "stampeded."
An encampment of whites, or men of their own colour? This was the
question that, for a while, occupied their attention, as they stood
regarding the movements of the animals.
It did not take them long to arrive at a conclusion. The strange
horses, at first scampering in different directions, had wheeled back
toward a common centre; and in a drove were now coming toward the spot
occupied by the Indians. As they drew nearer, the style of the saddles
and other riding-gear told the Cheyennes that their owners were not
Indians.
On first seeing them, the Yellow Chief had commanded his followers to
take position behind a clump of trees standing upon the slope of the
ridge, and hindering observation from the northward. There, for a time,
they continued to observe the movements of the riderless horses.
What seemed strange was, that there were no men following them. If
escaping from a camp in broad daylight, as it still was, they should
have been seen, and some attempt made to recapture them. But, as they
strayed under the eyes of the Indians, no owners appeared to be after
them.
For some time the Cheyenne chief and his followers sat gazing upon the
_cavallada_, and endeavouring to explain its presence.
They could make nothing out of it, beyond the fact of its being a troop
of stampeded animals.
And these could only have come from a camp of whites; for neither the
horses nor their trappings were such as are in use among Indians. There
were American horses among them, very different from the mustang of the
prairies.
Had they got away in the night, when their owners were asleep? Not
likely. Even thus they would have been trailed and overtaken. Besides,
when the Indians first set eyes on them, they were galloping excitedly,
as if freshly stampeded. They were now getting quieted after their
scare--whatever it may have been--some of them, as they stepped along,
stooping their heads to gather a mouthful of grass.
To the Indians it was a tempting sight. Horse-stealing is their regular
profession, and success at it one of their boasted accomplishments. A
young brave, returning to his tribe with the captured horse of an enemy,
is received almost with as much triumph and congratulation as if he
carried the scalp of that enemy on the point of his spear.
They remained in ambush only long enough to see that there were no men
within sight of the straying horses; and to reflect that, even if the
owners were near, they must be afoot, and therefore helpless to hinder
their cattle from being captured. A dash after the drove would do it.
They were all provided with their lazos, and there could be little
difficulty in securing the strays, to all appearance docile, as if jaded
after a long journey. With the quickness of lightning these thoughts
passed through the minds of the marauders; and simultaneously they
turned their eyes upon the chief, as if seeking permission to ride off
in pursuit. Not only was it given, but he himself determined to lead
the chase.
Among his other evil passions, cupidity was one; and, by Indian law, the
prize belongs to him who takes it. The chance of adding two or three
fine horses to his stock was not to be slighted; and turning to one of
the men who kept guard over the captive girl, he ordered him to take her
on to the encampment.
Then, setting the example to his followers, he rode out from behind the
copse, and, at an easy pace, directed his course toward the sauntering
_cavallada_.