ON FOOT.
The fugitives were now so close to the ridge that Warren Starr, from his
position on his pony, turned his attention to their immediate front. He
saw that the race must end, so far as his steed was concerned, within
the next second. The trees stood close together, the ascent was steep,
and the bowlders and rocks, plainly discernible, since all leafage was
gone, showed that the horse must halt of necessity at the moment of
striking the base of the elevation.
The Sioux had ceased firing. They were so certain of capturing the
youths that they saved their ammunition. The struggle could not last
much longer.
"Be ready to jump off!" said Warren to his companion; "I am going to
stop!"
Even as he spoke, he threw Jack on his haunches with a suddenness that
would have pitched the couple over his head, had they not braced
themselves. Both took a flying leap from his back and dashed for the
cover now directly before them.
The purpose was still to keep together, but circumstances beyond their
control prevented. They had no time to form any plan. Young Starr darted
to the right, aiming for some rocks which he fancied might afford
partial shelter. Tim had his eye on a somewhat similar refuge to the
left, and made for that. He would have joined his friend had he known
his intention, but the seconds were too precious to allow it, after a
few steps were taken. So he kept on without once glancing behind him.
Still there was no firing. The Indians must have felt more certain than
ever of their prey, thus to hold their shots. They emitted several
whoops of exultation, and the foremost bounded from their ponies and
sped after the fugitives like so many bloodhounds.
But the separation of the latter compelled a division of the former,
who, it will be remembered, were scattered at varying distances, only a
couple being at the heels of the young ranchers. Thus it came about that
each was pursued by a single warrior, and through a whim which cannot be
fully understood, the Sioux next to the leaders turned to the left on
the trail of the young Irishman, who had thus the honor, if it may be so
considered, of attracting the greater attention.
For a few moments Warren devoted his energies to running. He bounded
like a hare over the first bowlder that interposed, swerved slightly to
the right, to pass an obstructing rock, and went up the slope with the
same headlong speed with which he had dashed from the level ground to
the bottom of the slope.
It was not until he had sped fully a hundred yards in this furious
fashion that he ventured to throw a glance over his shoulder. Then he
learned that there was but a single Sioux in sight.
The fugitive had held his own so well against this miscreant, that the
latter must have felt a quick fear of his escaping him altogether. Young
Starr was an unusually swift sprinter, and it may be doubted whether
the fleet-footed Indian could have run him down in a fair contest.
The fear of losing the young man caused the Sioux to check himself
abruptly, bring his gun to a level, and let fly.
An extraordinary accident, or rather providence, saved the fugitive. At
the very instant of his enemy firing, Warren's foot slipped in the snow,
and he stumbled on his hands and knees. Certain that his fall was due to
the bullet just sent after him, the Sioux, with a whoop of triumph,
bounded forward over the bowlders and around the rocks to finish him.
Warren saw, with lightning-like quickness, that his fall might be his
salvation. It had deceived his foe into the belief that he was either
killed or mortally hurt, and he was, therefore, unprepared for that
which followed.
The youth did not attempt to rise. He had slipped down in such a
position that he was hidden from the sight of his pursuer. He quickly
shifted around so as to face him, and, rising on one knee, held his
Winchester pointed and ready for use.
He had not long to wait. The Sioux was so close that the next minute his
head and shoulders appeared above the rock, as he took his tremendous
strides toward the lad, whom he expected to see stretched helpless on
the snowy earth.
The sight of him kneeling on one knee, with his rifle aimed, his eye
ranging along the barrel, and his finger on the trigger, was the first
startling apprisal of the real state of affairs.
The warrior instantly perceived his fearful mistake, and made a
desperate attempt to dodge to one side, but though the loon may elude
the bullet of the hunter's rifle, no man has ever yet been equal to the
task. No screeching Indian was ever hit more fairly, surprised more
suddenly, or extinguished more utterly.
[Illustration: THE DEATH OF THE INDIAN.]
And so it came about that in the twinkling of an eye Warren Starr was
left without a pursuer. Not a solitary Sioux was in sight.
But he was too wise to think he was safe. He was simply relieved for
the time being of his harassing foes. They must have heard the discharge
of his rifle, and some of them would soon investigate when their comrade
failed to return to them. This would be after a few minutes. Naturally
they would suppose that the fugitive had been brought down, and not
until a brief period had elapsed would they suspect the truth.
It was this interval which must be utilized to the utmost, if the youth
hoped to escape. While the snow would reveal his trail so plainly that
it could be followed without the least difficulty, yet his own fleetness
ought to enable him to keep so far in advance of the Sioux that they
could not gain another shot at him. True, he was deprived of his
matchless pony, but the red men were also on foot, and therefore they
stood on equal terms, with the opening in favor of the fugitive.
Warren would have been full of hope and resolution, but for Tim Brophy.
His concern for his devoted friend forbade him turning the situation
solely to his own account. He made a hasty examination of his rifle, and
found nothing the matter with it. It was ready for use whenever needed.
Not a solitary warrior was in sight, and the profound stillness which
reigned caused the incidents of the last few minutes to seem like some
wild dream.
With that peculiar doubt that sometimes comes over one in such crises,
Warren gently pinched one hand with the other. The result convinced him
that everything was real--imagination had nothing to do with it.
The reports of his own Winchester and the Sioux's rifle were all that
had broken the stillness since the headlong leap of the young ranchers
from the back of the pony. There could have been no other report without
its being heard by Warren, who was sorely perplexed over the fact.
Could it be that equally good fortune had befallen Tim Brophy? Had he
been able to throw his pursuers off the track for the time? It seemed
impossible that two such providences should come simultaneously to the
fugitives. The Irishman was by no means as fleet of foot as Warren, and
with the majority of the pursuers dashing after him, only the worst
result was to be feared.
"Some of them will soon be here," was the conclusion of the youth, as he
stood sorely perplexed as to what he should do; "if I remain, I shall
have half a dozen of them around me, and then it will be all up; but
what about Tim?"
In his chivalrous devotion to his comrade, he now began withdrawing from
his dangerous position, but trended to the right as he faced his
enemies, with the object of getting near Tim, and with the hope that he
might be of help to him in his desperate strait.
He shuddered as he glanced down at the ground and observed the prints he
made in the snow. There could be no delay in tracing him, no matter what
direction he might take. It must be the same with his friend, who,
despite any advantage gained at the beginning of his last flight, could
be readily run down, if the Sioux preferred that to "winging" him while
in full flight.