It seemed that nothing could be more favorable for the attempt to
escape. There was Fred seated upon the back of a mustang. His copper
colored captors were some distance away at the side of the ravine, while
the only Indian in sight was a dozen feet ahead with his back toward
him. True, there was the risk of being shot, but he felt that he did not
deserve safety unless he was willing to run that or any risk.
There was a loose rein hanging on the neck of the mustang. Fred gently
pulled it and the beast stopped. He was walking so quietly that his
hoofs made scarcely any sound in falling upon the flinty surface, and
the Indian, from some cause or other, failed to notice the cessation of
sound until the distance between them had about doubled.
At that instant, the redskin turned his head as quick as lightning.
Fred, who had been washing for that identical movement, whirled the
steed about and started him back in the ravine at full gallop, the brute
responding gallantly to the sudden demand made upon him.
The fugitive was expecting a shot from the rifle in the hand of the
Apache, and he threw himself forward upon the horse, so as to make the
target as difficult to hit as possible. But the Indian did not fire,
not only on account of the risk to his favorite mustang, but because
it would have been certain to disarrange the reconnoissance upon which
Waukko and his companions were engaged.
But the red-skin did not stand in stupid helplessness. A glance told
him everything, and, running with extraordinary swiftness to the nearest
mustang, he vaulted upon his back and started in pursuit, putting his
animal upon the jump from the first. The few seconds' unavoidable
delay gave the young fugitive something like a hundred yards start, an
advantage which he used every effort to increase, and which, for a brief
spell, he succeeded in doing.
Fred's object was to avoid a regular chase, for he dreaded that in such
case the superior knowledge of the country possessed by the Indian would
enable him to outwit him at every turn. Night was close at hand, and,
if he could dodge the red-skin until darkness, the lad was confident of
escaping him altogether.
For a short distance, the ravine continued in almost a straight line,
and then it turned at a sharp angle. Without attempting to guide the
mustang in the least, Fred kept himself thrown forward, with his arms
about his neck, while he hammered his sides with his heels, spoke
sharply to him, and did everything he could to urge him to the highest
possible rate of speed. The animal whirled about the corner, and,
with his neck extended, went down the ravine with almost incredible
swiftness--a speed which was steadily drawing him away from his pursuer,
and which would have carried him beyond his reach in a brief time, but
for a singular and altogether unexpected check.
The pursuing red-skin saw his charge quietly slipping from his grasp,
and he must have viewed the wonderful speed of his favorite mustang,
under the circumstances, with mixed emotions. At any rate, it took him
but a short time to see that in a stern chase he had no chance of coming
up with his own animal, and so he commanded him to halt. This was done
by a peculiar, tremulous whooping sound, which he had used scores of
times to summon his animal to him, and which had never failed. Nor did
it fail now.
Fred was careering along at this amazing speed, congratulating himself
meanwhile upon his cleverness, when the brute checked himself so
suddenly that the rider narrowly escaped being pitched over his head. He
jerked the bit, and pounded his heels against his ribs, but it was of no
avail. The horse had pricked up his ears, neighed, and was looking back,
with very much the appearance of an animal that was in a mental muddle.
The Indian saw it, and repeated the signal. Thereupon the mustang
wheeled and started backward at a gallop, directly toward his master.
“If that's your idea, I'm not going with you!” gasped the lad, who
slipped off his back, as nimbly as a monkey, and made a dash for the
side of the ravine, without any clear idea of where he was going.
It seemed that there was no possible escape for the lad, for the Indian
was but a short distance behind him, and was twice as fleet of foot as
he; but one of those fortunate interferences which seem to be in their
nature like special Providences occurred at this juncture.
The flight and pursuit of Fred Munson took place at a critical period
in the affairs of all parties and so mixed up the business that it was
thrown entirely out of gear and almost into inextricable confusion.
It seemed that there was a party of Kiowas in hiding, and awaiting the
chance to open fire upon the approaching Apaches. The sly scamps saw
every movement of the warriors, and it looked as if the flies were about
walking into their trap when the unexpected by-play occurred.
There must have been all of half a dozen Kiowas, enough to extinguish
the Apaches, and when Fred Munson started in his flight, two of the
Indians hurried down the ravine for the purpose of taking a hand in the
business. They unavoidably fell behind in such a trial of speed, but
when they saw the Apache about to reach out his hand to grasp the
fugitive, two shots were fired almost simultaneously at him.
They were intended to kill, too, for the Kiowas, who were actuated by no
love for the despairing white boy, felt that they could afford to give
him this temporary respite. They were certain of their own ability
to step in and pluck the prize at the very moment it might seem to be
beyond their reach. Rather curiously, however, neither of the shots did
what was intended. One of them missed the Apache altogether, and the
other only slightly wounded him.
As it was, however, the pursuing warrior was dumbfounded, and he stopped
as suddenly as if smitten by a bolt from heaven. Leaving his mustang to
look out for himself, he darted to the opposite side of the ravine from
that taken by the lad, for the purpose of securing cover before a second
volley could be fired.
Fred heard the report of the rifle-shots, and sup posed that he was the
target and that they had been fired by Waukko and his companion.
Instead of stopping to ascertain, he continued his flight with all the
desperation of combined hope and despair.
A few seconds sufficed to carry him across the ravine, and among the
rocks, boulders, and stunted growth. The panting fugitive was rendered
almost frantic by the thought that he was about to elude the red-skin
after all. As he bounded into cover, he cast a terrified glance
backward, to see how close to his heels was his dreaded enemy.
Not an Indian was visible.
But although Fred failed to see anything of his enemies, he could not
but believe that they were somewhere in the immediate neighborhood, and
he did not relax his efforts in the slightest. Such strenuous efforts
speedily exhausted him, and after climbing, clambering, and stumbling
forward and upward for some twenty rods or so, he tripped and pitched
forward upon his face, where he lay panting, and so weak that he could
not rise. He was sure he heard the footsteps of his pursuer but a short
distance away, and the most that he could do was to raise his head and
glance furtively in the direction. He had not the strength absolutely to
rise to his feet and run away.
Again and again he was confident that the Apache was close to him, but
still he did not become visible, and all this time Fred was rapidly
regaining his strength. In a very short time his rapid breathing
subsided, and he felt his old vigor and vitality creeping back into his
limbs. He was ready to spring to his feet again, but he did not deem it
best. It seemed to him that the warrior had lost sight of him, and was
looking about. If the boy, therefore, should rise to his feet, he would
be the more likely to be seen, and if he remained where he was he was
sure of being found.
He compromised the matter by crawling forward on his hands and knees,
listening and looking, and continually pausing to prevent creeping into
the arms of his enemies. All this time night was approaching, and with
the passage of each minute came a corresponding rise in the hopes of the
fugitive. Fred kept moving forward upon his hands and knees, climbing
higher and further away from the point of danger.
Everything remained as silent as the tomb.
The Apache that Fred fancied was so close upon him was, in reality,
playing hide and seek with the Kiowas, a business which is generally
conducted in silence, unless the stillness be broken by the occasional
crack of the rifle, or the death-yell of one of the participants. The
footsteps which the boy fancied he heard were all in his imagination.
In fact, he was alone. No human eye saw him, or took cognizance of his
movements. For the present he was left to himself.
There was but One who held him in view and remembrance at this critical
juncture. To Him Fred appealed again and again to lead him through
the labyrinth of peril, and to permit him to return in safety to his
friends.
Still the boy picked his way along as does the frightened animal, and
still he failed to see or hear anything of his enemy. Meanwhile
the gloom deepened, and with the passage of every moment his heart
lightened, until he felt that for the time being, at least, his safety
was assured.