"A `tenderfoot,' and--`turned round'!" [Lost.] And the speaker hands
his field-glass to his companion. The latter brings it to bear and
gazes with interest upon the object under observation.
The said object is a horseman, now between three and four miles distant.
The observers from their point of vantage and concealment, a little
belt of scrub and timber cresting a knoll, have been watching this
object ever since it appeared on the skyline.
Thanks to the powerful glass they can make out every movement of the
solitary horseman, and very irresolute his movements are. Now he reins
in, and looks anxiously around; now he spurs his nag to the brow of some
slight eminence, only to encounter disappointment, for the broad rolling
plains lie around in unbroken monotony, affording no sort of landmark
for the guidance of this inexperienced traveller. There is weariness
and disappointment in his every movement. In his countenance there is
more--an expression of strong apprehension, not to say alarm. This,
too, thanks to the developments of science, is clear to the observers.
"A `tenderfoot,' and turned round," repeats Vipan. "Now, what the deuce
can he be doing here, alone, and away from his outfit? Why--what's the
matter, Miss Santorex?"
"Look--look!" is the hurried reply. "There--to the right--down in the
hollow! What--who are they?"
In her eagerness she has seized his arm, and her face has gone pale as
death. But Vipan has seen at the same time what she herself has. His
reply is grave and in one word.
For a new factor has appeared on the scene. Stealing around the slope
of the hill, out of sight of the horseman, but so that a few minutes
will bring them suddenly upon him, come nearly a score of mounted
figures. Their plumed heads and long lances show them to be Indians,
their painted faces and the fantastic trappings of their ponies show
them to be warriors on the war-path. Their stealthy glide, as nearer
and nearer they advance upon their wholly unconscious victim, leaves no
doubt whatever as to their present intentions. Indeed, the observers
can plainly distinguish the exultant grin on each cruel countenance as
the warriors exchange glances or signals. A few moments, and the
solitary horseman will ride right into their midst.
"Oh, can nothing be done to save him?" cried Yseulte Santorex, clasping
her hands in the intensity of the situation.
"I'm afraid, under present circumstances--nothing," was the reply, given
with a calmness that outraged and exasperated her.
"What! I should never have believed it of you, Mr Vipan," she cried,
her eyes flashing with indignation. "I should never have believed that
you--you of all men--would stand by and see a fellow-creature
barbarously done to death, and make no effort to save him, or even to
warn him."
There was a strange look in Vipan's eyes as he met her scornful and
angry glance--full and unflinchingly.
"Should you not!" he replied. "Well, then, I would stand by and see a
hetacomb of `fellow-creatures' done to death, if the alternative lay in
exposing you to serious danger."
"Forgive me," she said, hurriedly, and in a softer tone. "But leave me
out of the question, and let us try and save him. See! There are not
many Indians; we can surely do something. Oh! It is too late!"
The stranger's horse was seen suddenly to stop short, pause, swerve,
then start forward with a bound that nearly left his rider rolling on
the plain. He had scented the Indians, who at the same moment appeared
within a few hundred yards of the white man. Feigning astonishment at
the suddenness of the meeting, one of the foremost warriors called out
in broken English:
"How! White brother not run away. We good Injun--damn good Injun!
Stop!--say `how.' Smoke pipe--eat heap `chuck'! Damn good Injun, we!
White brother--stop!"
But the "white brother," though obviously a greenhorn, was not quite so
soft as that. For all answer he dug the spurs into the sides of his nag
in such wise as materially to increase the distance between himself and
the savages. The latter, baulked of an easy and bloodless capture,
together with the rare sport of putting a prisoner to death amid all
manner of slow and ingenious tortures, cast all pretence to the winds,
as they darted in pursuit.
Then began a race for life, which the spectators could not but watch
with thrilling interest. Fortunately for the fugitive, his horse was an
animal of blood and mettle, and seemed likely to show a good lead to the
fleet war-ponies. But on the other hand the fugitive himself was an
indifferent rider, and more than once, wholly unaccustomed to the
tremendous pace, he would sway in the saddle, and only save himself by a
hurried clutch at his steed's mane from being cast headlong to the
earth. The whoops and yells of the savage pursuers sounded nearer and
nearer in his ears, and the expression of his countenance, livid as with
the dews of death, and eyeballs starting from their sockets, was that of
such despairing horror as to turn one of the two spectators sick and
faint.
"There's just a chance for him," muttered Vipan, more to himself than to
his companion. "If he takes the right fork of the valley he's a dead
man--nothing can save him. If he takes the left, it'll bring him close
under us, and I'll give him a hail."
"Do, for the love of Heaven!" gasped the girl through her ashy lips.
"God will help us, if we try and save this stranger."
Along the valley-bottom swept this most engrossing of all hunts--a
man-hunt. Whatever advantage the superiority of his horse afforded him
the fugitive was throwing away by his own clumsiness; for wildly
gripping the bridle to steady himself in his seat, he was checking and
worrying his steed to a perilous extent. Bent low on the necks of their
ponies, the savages were urging the latter to their utmost speed.
Slowly but surely now they were gaining. But a minute more and the
fugitive must choose--the right fork of the valley, away into certain
death--the left, succour, possible safety.
Suddenly a warrior, urging his steed in advance of the rest, literally
flying over the ground, comes within fifty yards of the fugitive.
Five--ten--another effort and he will be within striking distance. Then
rising upright in his saddle the savage whirls a lasso in the air.
Another moment and the fatal coil will have settled around the doomed
man's shoulders.
But it is not to be. A crack and a puff of smoke from the spectators'
hiding-place. The distance is too great for accuracy of aim--six
hundred yards if an inch--but the ball ploughs up the ground under the
pony's feet, causing the animal to swerve and the rider to miss his
cast. The warriors, disconcerted by this wholly unlooked-for danger,
halt for a moment, gazing in the direction of the report. At the same
time a stentorian voice calls out:
"This way, stranger. This way, for your blessed soul, or you're a dead
man!"
The fugitive needs no second invitation. His horse's head is turned
towards the never-so-welcome refuge. Amid a shower of bullets and
arrows from his discomfited pursuers he gallops up the gradual slope
which lies between himself and safety, and, fainting, exhausted,
speechless, more dead than alive, at length flings himself upon the
ground at his rescuers' feet.
Vipan's attention is for the moment more taken up with the red warriors
than with the man he has saved from their ruthless clutches. The whole
party has now withdrawn beyond range, and is busily discussing the
sudden turn affairs have taken. Then turning to the panting and
exhausted man stretched at full length upon the ground with closed eyes,
he remarks drily:
"You've had a narrow squeak for it, friend. I don't think your scalp
could sit much more lightly than it has done within the last few minutes
short of coming off altogether."
But the fugitive seemed not to hear. His whole attention was fixed--
riveted--upon the beautiful face bending over him in alarm--solicitude--
then unbounded surprise.
"Yseulte!" he stammered. "Yseulte! Is it really you, or am I dead or
dreaming?"
"Why it's Geoffry. Geoffry Vallance! Why, Geoffry, where on earth
_have_ you dropped from?"
"Er--I was trying to catch up your--er--Major Winthrop's party--and lost
my way," he answered stupidly--rubbing his eyes in sheer bewilderment.