A DEAD RACE.
Avon Burnet was thunderstruck. When he supposed he was several miles
from the cabin of his uncle, he found himself directly in front of it,
and the Indian horse, upon which he relied to take him to the camp of
the cattlemen, had brought him to what might be called the mouth of the
lion's den.
Not only had the precious minutes been thrown away, but his peril was of
the most desperate nature.
Hardly had the pony halted, when a couple of figures loomed to view in
the darkness on the left, and one of them called to him in Comanche.
This told the youth that his identity was unsuspected by the red men,
whose view was too indistinct to distinguish him from one of their own
number. But they were coming toward him, and his broad sombrero must
reveal the truth the next instant.
Not a second was to be lost. They were almost upon him, when he wheeled
and urged his mustang to a dead run, throwing himself forward at the
same moment, in the usual way, to avoid the bullets that would be
whistling about him before he could pass beyond reach.
But the steed got the mischief in him at this moment. He must have
understood the treachery demanded of him, for instead of dashing off, as
was expected, he spitefully flung his head from side to side and reared,
with his fore-legs high from the ground.
Had Avon been on the open prairie, with time at his command, he would
have conquered the beast, as he had done many a time with others, but he
could not do so now. There was not the twinkling of an eye at his
disposal.
The mustang was still rearing and pawing the air, when Avon whisked over
his shoulder, like a skilled equestrian, landing nimbly on his feet, and
breaking into a dead run toward the cattle camp five miles away. His
action, as well as that of his horse, made known the astonishing truth
to the approaching Comanches.
Several warning whoops broke the stillness, and it seemed to the
fugitive that half the Indians were in pursuit of him. He glanced back
and was not a little surprised to observe that all were on foot. The
pony which had just been freed must have concluded to enjoy his liberty
while the chance was his, for, instead of going to his master, he
galloped whinnying in another direction.
But all of these men had mustangs, which, as has been said, were among
the finest of their species, and they were likely to take part in the
singular contest.
If the chase should retain its present character the young man had hope,
for he was one of the fleetest of Texans, who had never met his superior
among the veterans of the plains. The Comanches are also wonderfully
active on foot, and it remained to be decided whether they could
overtake him in a fair contest.
Avon Burnet ran as never before. He was speeding now for his own life
as well as for that of his friends, for they were in as urgent need of
help as ever. He knew his face was toward camp, he remembered the nature
of the ground, and had no fear, therefore, of stumbling into any
pitfalls.
Accustomed as the Comanches were to running, they must have been
surprised at the burst of speed shown by the young man, who seemed to be
going over the plain like the wind.
As he ran Avon cast furtive glances over his shoulder, and his heart
tingled when he saw that he was steadily drawing away from the four
figures which seemed to have sprung from the ground itself.
"Keep it up, boys," he muttered, "and see where you land. If you can
down me in _this style_, you are welcome."
But it was not to be expected that the pursuers would content themselves
while the swift-footed youth left them out of sight. The moment they saw
that such an issue was likely, they would resort to their rifles, and
there could be no question of their skill with those weapons, which
they had been accustomed to use from the hour they were strong enough to
hold one of them.
There must have been some urgent wish on the part of the red men to
capture the youth, else they would have appealed to their guns at first.
The rearing mustang served as a partial shield to the fugitive, until he
was fairly under way and had secured a start of several rods, in fact
being almost invisible in the gloom at the moment the race fairly
opened.
The third glance over his shoulder showed him only two of the Comanches
in sight, and hardly half a minute elapsed, when, on looking back again,
only one was visible.
But the fact became speedily apparent that this particular red man was
as fleet as himself. He must have been the champion of his tribe, since
he parted company with his companions so speedily.
"I don't know whether I can shake you off or not," thought the fugitive,
"but it's a mighty sight better to be chased by a single enemy than by
several."
The youth determined upon a piece of strategy, should it prove possible.
He meant to keep up the flight, without escaping his pursuer, until he
was drawn so far away from the rest that he could receive no help from
them. This, at the same time, would encourage the miscreant in the
belief that he would soon overhaul and make him prisoner.
The first part of the scheme was comparatively simple. It was easier to
allow the scamp to gain upon him than it was to outrun him; it was
somewhat more difficult to hold the rates of speed relatively equal,
while it looked extremely doubtful whether, when the moment should
arrive, he could leave him behind.
In support of this view, Avon did not fail to remember that he had put
forth his utmost exertion from the first, and still was unable to shake
off his enemy, who clung as persistently to him as does the wolf to the
wounded bison.
What he feared, too, as much as anything else, was that the other
Comanches, who had withdrawn from the race, would hasten to the
vicinity of the cabin, and, mounting their mustangs, take part in the
struggle. If a horseman should get but a single glimpse of him, it would
not take him long to run the fugitive down.
It was this dread which caused him to swerve gradually to the left,
though he kept such careful note of the change that there was no danger
of his going astray as before.
None of the pursuers, from the moment of starting, gave vent to
any outcry, as they are generally supposed to do under similar
circumstances. Such a proceeding would have been as great a draught
upon his strength as outright laughter, and the American Indian is too
wise not to husband every resource.
It required little cessation of effort to permit the Comanche to come up
with him at an alarming rate. A few minutes would have allowed the
pursuer to overhaul the fugitive.
Only a few minutes had passed since the furious start, and Avon felt
that the time had come to consider himself as dealing only with this
single redskin. Still bearing to the left he put forth all his energies,
resolved to run away from him, if the achievement was within the range
of possibility.
It was not. Try as desperately as he might, the Comanche could not be
shaken off.
An encounter being inevitable, Avon had to decide upon the manner in
which it should take place.
Inasmuch as the warrior must have felt certain of coming up with him, he
was not likely to appeal to his rifle, or that would have been his first
act when the contest opened. He would continue to run until near enough
either to seize the youth or to use his weapon against him.
Avon concluded that the only course which offered hope was to allow the
warrior to approach slightly closer, and then to wheel and let him have
several chambers from his Winchester.
He would have to act quickly, but he had already proven himself capable
of that, and it might be that the Comanche would be looking for
something of the kind, and was supple enough to secure the drop on him.
His people were accustomed to border warfare and had graduated in all
the subtlety of the fearful business.
Young Burnet had fixed his course of action in his mind when, to his
consternation, he heard the sounds of approaching hoofs over the
prairie!