A STERN CHASE IS GENERALLY A LONG ONE.
After Ralph had finished his yarn, the whites sat for some time talking
around the fire.
The afternoon began to rapidly draw to a close, and darkness was soon at
hand. The sky was clear of clouds, and all knew when the moon _did_ rise
it would have a clear field before it. The day had been pretty warm, but
night brought cool and very pleasant breezes with it. The birds had all
gone to their nests or were asleep in the branches of the trees with
their heads underneath their wings. The animals which were generally
seen in the daytime were all gone now, and the many voices of the night
were the only things to be heard.
From the trees came the shrill scream of the panther, the lonely hoot of
the owl, the scream of the night-hawk and cries from other animals and
birds. From the plains came the howls of the wolves, sounding dismally
through the darkness of the night. From the river came the croaking of
frogs and the buzzing of many insects that infest watery places.
All were accustomed to these night noises and did not notice them in the
least. They were listening to the guide, who was telling a splendid
story about “Kit Carson on the war-path,” and how he avenged the death
of a poor settler.
The hunter was an old friend of Ralph’s, and many a time had these two
hunted together on the plains.
The three others were listening with great interest, for the yarn (and
it was a true one) was a very wild one, and well calculated to make the
hearers feel an intense interest in it.
All at once, while in the middle of a sentence, the guide stopped, and
held up his hand for the others to remain quiet. He had heard some noise
that sounded suspicious.
What it was none of the others knew just then, but they watched the
hunter as with head on one side he sat listening.
They wondered what noise the old hunter had heard, but in fact it was
_not_ a noise that he heard but the sudden stoppage of one which had
been sounding in his ears since darkness had set in.
The wolves on the burnt plain, on the opposite side of the river, had
_suddenly stopped howling_. To any of the others, this incident would
not have meant any thing even had they noticed it, which is very
doubtful. But to an old hunter and Indian-fighter it meant a good deal.
The wolves would never stop howling unless some human being was near
them. Therefore Ralph was listening for some sound which would tell
whether there were men on the other side of the river or not. He did not
have long to wait.
A sound came to their ears, even though the wind was _not_ coming from
the river to them, that even the Frenchman heard, although of course
_he_ did not know what made them.
The sound which all heard was like that made by a crowd of horses or
buffaloes, but the old hunter knew that every one of those horses had a
rider upon its back. At first he thought it must be Red Buffalo and the
remnant of his band returning to the river after the fire to see if the
whites had escaped or been burned up.
He soon knew, however, that the noise was a great deal too heavy to be
made by the Comanche chief and the few men who had escaped with him.
Whoever it was coming, there were scores of horses, as the old hunter
knew by his natural sharpness.
Like a flash he sprung to his feet and stamped upon the fire. The young
hunter and the circus-rider were not backward in following his example,
and the fire was soon extinguished, to the last spark.
And now the question was had those who were coming seen the fire?
A loud yell, unmistakably pure Comanche, came to their ears. This
startled the whites for three reasons, the first of which was that they
had no thought of being pursued by a large body of their sworn enemies.
Secondly, their foes were nearer than they had taken them to be, and,
thirdly, they had seen the fire before it was put out. In fact, it had
been a beacon for them for nearly half an hour.
“Onto yer hosses, boys. We’ve got to race for it ag’in, an’ the devil
take the hindmost.” The four sprung to their horses and quickly placed
the saddles upon them. While they were adjusting the girths the bright
moon, full and clear, peeped up above the eastern horizon, and lighted
up the plain and the river.
Then our four friends saw where the Comanches were and what their number
was. They were just on the edge of the river, and were about to dash
into the water as the moon showed her smiling face.
There were five score of horses, but only half that number of Indians.
Each man had a spare horse, which he led by the lariat.
This sight made the guide feel very anxious, for should their horses get
tired they had no others to change to, while the Indians could mount
their spare horses, and they being nearly fresh would gain rapidly upon
the whites. As the four leaped upon their horses the Indians dashed into
the water and came rapidly across.
Our friends rode off at as rapid a rate as they could through the
forest. Three minutes afterward the band of Comanches emerged from the
water and rode after them.
When the Indians reached the plain the four whites were in full view,
and giving a war-cry they started in pursuit.
At the head of the warriors rode Red Buffalo, the chief.
He and the warriors who had escaped with him had met a large band after
they had set the prairie on fire.
This was the band the chief before leaving the village had ordered to
follow after him. They brought spare horses with them, and the chief,
who did not feel sure that the fire had done the work he had intended it
to do, resolved that, after the ground became perfectly cool, he would
set out for the river. He knew that if his enemies had escaped they
would be somewhere in this vicinity, and even if he did not find them he
could find their trail. The Indians had come in sight of the fire, and
had they not had spare horses they would have tried to sneak up onto
their enemies. As it was they knew that they could catch up with them
anyhow, and so they resolved to have a race.
Away they went over the treeless plain.
Not a rock, nor a tree, nor a mound was in sight; all was one boundless
open plain.
The Indians were now in their glory, and they rode along yelling and
howling in their fiendish glee. They felt sure of their foes now, and
could afford to yell a little.
As to the chief, he rode along in silence, although he was even more
rejoiced than any of his warriors. Was not his sworn enemy, the Hunter
Hercules, in front of him, and was there not every chance of his being
captured or killed? The chief knew the hunter well, and he was well
aware that in the hand-to-hand fight that must occur, many would go down
beneath the iron arm of the hunter before he was rubbed out.