It was all Chris could do in his excitement and alarm to keep from
crying aloud to his pony to go faster and faster, though after a few
strides it seemed as if the rider's fear was communicated, and it was
tearing over the rocky ground with all its might, making the stones fly
as they were smitten in the furious gallop. But fortunately not a word
escaped between the boy's firmly-set teeth.
Settling himself well down in the saddle, he felt that his only chance
of saving himself from being a prisoner, perhaps from a horrible death,
was to trust entirely to his pony, leave it free to go as it willed.
Of the character of his pursuers there was no doubt. They were Indians,
the regular savage Indians of the plains, whose cruelties to settlers
were the theme of many a horrible story told at camp-fire and in
solitary shanty. Chris knew of their deeds well enough, but it had
never entered his mind that the time would come when he would be tearing
through the darkness over the rugged stones of a rocky gulch, flying for
his life with an ever-increasing pack baying and yelling at his heels.
For during the first minute or two he had been chased by three or four;
after that the numbers, as betrayed by their yells, rapidly increased,
till as they secured their pegged-out horses and sprang upon their
backs, fully fifty must have joined in the chase.
They were well mounted, too, upon the tough, wiry horses of the plains,
quite at home on the roughest of ground, and at first as Chris tore on
they seemed to be gaining upon him fast; but their savage yells, however
much they alarmed, had another effect upon Chris's mustang, making the
gallant little beast toss its long mane, raise its long, plume-like tail
till it floated out behind, and stretching out neck and legs, its length
growing closer to the track, it tore away like a greyhound, avoiding
obstacles as if by some occult force, and making the air whistle by the
fugitive's ears.
Chris could ride well. Many a leading race he had indulged in against
Ned on the open prairie-like land long before this expedition, while
since then the tedium of their journey had often been lightened by a mad
gallop, as much enjoyed by the steeds as by those they bore swiftly
along over the level sands; but the boy had never ridden before as he
rode now. For he seemed to form part and parcel of the wiry little
mustang, as he leaned over towards its straining neck to pat and caress
and now and then twine the thick hairs of the mane about the fingers of
his right-hand, the left that still held the rein allowing it to flap
lower against the neck, while each pat and caress was responded to by a
snort.
That seemed no time for thinking, but Chris thought hard--harder than he
had ever thought before. He was not afraid, for there was a strange
feeling of excitement, a wild thrill of exhilaration, accompanying the
race, which made him long once more to shout aloud. For himself he
thought nothing, but his thoughts were of his father, and the agony and
despair he would suffer if it so happened that his boy was captured and
slain; and by degrees these thoughts impressed him so that his desires
became centred in one, and that was, to gallop away from the savage
pack, leaving them far behind, and riding on and on till he could rejoin
his father in triumph and tell him that he was safe.
There were moments in that wild race when Chris's excitement grew into
fierce exultation, when the stones were flying, the pony's hot breath
floating back to his cheeks, and the yelling of the savages began to
grow faint; and then again moments when the mustang's efforts seemed to
flag and the yells of the Indians increasing in loudness came nearer and
nearer, till the boy had hard work to keep from wrenching himself round
in the saddle to try and pierce the black darkness to gaze defiantly at
the fierce starting eyeballs and gleaming teeth of those who were
hunting him for his blood.
These changes came again and again as the mustang tore along, now
leaving the yells behind, now slackening or seeming to slacken, till the
Indians' whoops were very near, ringing behind and even passing the
fugitive, to run echoing from side to side multiplying the burst of
cries.
Then all at once the chase settled down into a wilder gallop, as a
feeling of terror influenced the boy.
"We must be getting nearer the stone in the middle of the gulch where I
hid," thought Chris, "and he'll run full into it."
But the next moment he felt that they could not be half-way yet, and his
ears began to sing in the darkness as the yells of the Indians sounded
louder and louder, while the echoes given back by the closing-in walls
were deafening.
Nearer and nearer they sounded--those savage yells--and once more Chris
leaned forward to caress the mustang's neck.
"Oh, go on, old lad," he whispered; "faster, faster, or they'll have
us." And then the whisper, unheard in the turmoil of yell and echo,
became a cry of agony embodied in the simple homely words which told of
the boy's suffering and the despair now gripping him by the heart, for
out of the black darkness came a fresh burst of yells that were horrible
in their intensity, and full of triumph in their tones, as if those who
shouted were certain of their quarry. Chris's heart sank low indeed,
for the end seemed to have come. Involuntarily now both hands clutched
and clung to the pony's shaggy mane.
For just as it seemed to the fugitive that the foremost horses were upon
him and their riders' hands were outstretched to tear him from his
saddle, the mustang made a sudden swerve and what seemed to be a slip.
But it did not go down, recovering itself in an instant, but only to
drop from a furious gallop into a laboured canter which became directly
after a painful walk, while Chris felt as if he had received a blow
which had stupefied him, deadening his hearing so that he only heard the
clatter of horses' hoofs and the yelling of the riders as if from a
distance, growing fainter and fainter till they died away.
"What's the matter? Am I hurt?" panted the boy, as, passing the rein
over his wrist, he clapped his hands to his temples, sitting upright and
swaying with his pony's movements the while.
The only answer was the hoarse panting of the pony as, evidently
striving hard, it kept on at the walk, full of effort, and Chris began
to grasp the fact that in the swerve made by the plucky little steed the
Indians had swept by at full gallop, while, unnoticed in the darkness,
the pony had turned up the side gorge which his master had passed in
coming and passed again upon his return, being fast asleep, when the
mustang had stopped to sniff and hesitate, and finally chosen the way
which led them right into the Indians' camp.
"Why, they've missed us," exclaimed Chris, whose heart began now to beat
wildly in the fresh excitement of the moment. For his head was still
confused, and he was trying hard to make out how it was that the Indians
had managed to pass him earlier in the evening, even now being too much
puzzled to make out the mistake that had occurred.
For in the great darkness of the narrow gorge they were ascending the
boy's brain seemed to participate. He could not grasp that by this
narrow descent the Indians had gained the gulch directly after he had
passed to take up his position as scout. In short, all he had room for
in his head then was the one great thought, that for the present, thanks
to the pony, he had escaped, and for the minor piece of easily-grasped
knowledge that the panting beast was toiling--literally climbing up a
very steep and narrow rift in the side of the cliff; where he was going
and what was to be the end, he could not tell.
After a time the efforts of the pony grew less; it ceased to drag itself
up as if forcing its hoofs into the crevices of the rock to climb foot
by foot. The way was still steep, and the darkness so thick that for a
time Chris could make out nothing of the sides; but in time the strip of
purply-black sky gemmed with stars became wider, the edges not so
ragged, and all at once it struck the boy that they were not climbing
over stones, for the sound of the hoofs was deadened.
This lasted for a time, during which Chris began to breathe more easily
as he looked about him and questioned himself as to where he was, while
little by little the facts came to fit themselves together like the
pieces of a puzzle which now seemed very simple, so that it only needed
a fresh act on the part of the mustang to make all clear.
Fully a couple of hours must have passed since the wild hunt in which he
had been the quarry; but there it all was now, as the pony stopped
suddenly, lowered its head, and began to crop steadily with the sounds
so familiar to the hearer, at the soft grass down to which Chris now
sprang, to stand looking about him.
"Of course," he said. "We must have climbed up here to what father
called the tableland, and somewhere farther on, I suppose, we should
come to the edge of the cliff and look down into the valley with the
openings facing one.
"But not now," he said, with a shudder, as he thought of the
perpendicular character of the cliff-faces.
"Yes, that's all clear now; the Indians must have come along here while
I was going along the gulch, and soon after I had passed they got down
and turned the other way, making for the valley, and getting in perhaps
before my people had secured all the stores and things. Oh, what have I
done?" he cried bitterly. "Failed--horribly failed! Now how am I to
find out what has happened since? Has there been a terrible fight? Can
I go down now and see?
"No--no--no," came three dreary answers. "Part of the Indians may be
down there by the built-up cliffs; the others will be coming back soon;
and what could I do in this darkness, with it far darker in the valley?
"If I only knew what has happened since!" he said, with a groan full of
despair, as, dropping down upon the soft turf, half-sitting,
half-kneeling, he gazed in the direction where he supposed the great
hollow to be, listened to the _crop_--_crop_--_crop_ of the grazing
beast, and wondered how long it would be before the daylight came.
It was long--a long and weary time, for there was no sleepy sensation
now. Chris had had his first taste of a very real danger. He could not
hide from himself the knowledge that he had been quite near the end of
all his bright, hopeful aspirations. The chase after him had been so
savage that he had no faith in being made a well-treated prisoner. The
Indians had been too ready and too fierce in their onslaught to show
mercy, and there was a sickening feeling at his heart respecting what
might have happened during his long absence. Perhaps they had attacked
his friends directly after reaching the valley, and if so they had
probably received such a lesson as explained their savage demonstration
upon seeing him.
"It will all be made clear," thought the boy, "as soon as the day
comes." But all the same he did not feel at all confident about what he
asserted, neither did he feel at all happy about himself.
"How am I to get back to the valley?" he said. "I suppose it would be
easy enough to go down that steep slope into the gulch, but I should be
sure to find some of the savages waiting for me there, and even if there
were none I don't suppose they all came after me. There were sure to be
some left in their camp.
"What can I do?" he muttered. "There is no other way into the valley,
and what can I do alone?"
He had seated himself in the darkness to watch the stars slowly seeming
to pass from east to west, and as he said half-aloud those words about
being alone he slowly fingered the revolver-holster on one side of his
belt and the hunting-knife in its sheath, which done, he pulled at the
strap which slung his rifle, and getting it round to the front he rested
it upon his knees, and began mechanically to examine the breech as if to
make sure that he had cartridges in each barrel.
They were there safe enough, and he closed the breech and was about to
drag the piece into its regular place again; but something struck him
which made him get the rifle back into position, re-open the breech, and
take out one of the cartridges, before opening his pouch and exchanging
it for another.
A curious sensation ran through the boy's frame as he did this. He felt
uncomfortable and as if he were about to do some wrong thing, for the
cartridge he withdrew was filled with number six shot such as he would
use for killing small birds that they could use for their meals, while
the one he inserted in its place contained a long conical bullet, and he
knew he was not putting that ready in case he should encounter a bear.
He would not own it to himself--he dreaded to think about it--but all
the while he could not help feeling that it must be a duty to defend his
own life, and certainly was one to try and protect his father and his
friends.
But Chris Lee was uncomfortable all the same, and tried hard to keep all
such thoughts back, as he once more began to watch the stars, and
listened to the _crop, crop_ of the pony, which seemed to be revelling
in the soft, dew-wet grass, whose pleasant odour rose to his nostrils as
the animal kept on uttering the familiar blowing sound to drive away
insects before nibbling off tufts and grinding them between its fine
teeth.
"Poor fellow," he said softly; "he saved my life."
And then he remarked to himself upon its being strange that the mustang
did not go far away from him, but evidently preferred grazing round and
round as if it were pleasanter to keep close to its companion, man.
It was a long, long time, during which, without once feeling the want of
rest, Chris still watched the stars, before he uttered a sigh of relief,
for they were certainly growing paler and there was a faint suggestion
of light just where, he reflected, the east would lie. Moreover, he was
where he had hoped he might find himself, and that was not far from
opposite the piece of terraced cliff where he hoped that his friends
might be.
He went at once to the pony and led it with him, now moving very
cautiously for fear of danger, towards the edge of the cliff, in the
hope that as it grew lighter some one might catch sight of him and wave
him a signal that he might take as a piece of advice.
But it was still dark below, and he knew the folly of expecting to see
any one looking up to where he stood, feeling in his heart that it was
far more likely that they might be lying in wait for his return far away
towards the entrance of the gully, ready to cover his retreat if he made
an attempt to rush in.
"But I can't," he said to himself dolefully. "It's impossible to get
down there."
He wanted to get close to the edge of the cliff, to stand above the
ranges of cells facing those they had explored; but it was still too
dark, for he knew not what rifts or precipitous places might score the
tableland upon which he stood; and the day was coming so slowly, while
he grew more impatient minute by minute.
There were moments when he thought it would be unwise to expose himself
on the top, for if there were Indians in the depression looking sharply
about, according to their nature, he would be showing where they could
stand a better chance of hunting him down in the full light of day. But
if they did attempt such a thing he began wondering whether it would be
possible to lead them a long chase, gradually working round till he
could make a dash for the gulch and so join his friends.
He could not help feeling that there was little likelihood of this, and
then his attention was taken up by the strengthening of the light away
to his right, and he started with surprise to see that, from a different
point of view of course, he could look upon the very spot where Wilton
had caught sight of the Indians gazing down into the valley before
drawing back and taking evidently a long round to reach the narrow
ravine which had afforded him an outlet of escape.
It was growing light now fast, as he stood holding his pony's rein, and
he began to follow the track that the Indians must have taken from the
head of the depression, now full in view, bearing round to his right
until they reached the ravine up which he had come. He tried to make
out where that might be, but it was darker there, and for some time,
eager as he was to locate the spot for reasons connected with using it
again as a means of escape, though in a reverse way, it was some time
before he could make out where the gradual descent from the tableland
began.
But the reason was very simple. It was dim there, the eastern light not
touching that part, and for another reason he was not looking far enough
away from the edge of the cliffs by about a couple of miles. But as the
day broadened the way of escape was revealed in a manner which took his
breath away, for there, clearly seen in the pale morning light, was the
head of a long line of mounted men, the first half-dozen in full view,
the others diminishing in height slowly as they ascended the slope,
three-quarters, half, a quarter length, so that the last man's head
alone was visible, and growing slowly as it seemed to be rising from the
earth.
"After us, old chap," cried Chris bitterly, to his pony. "Now then, are
you rested? It's going to be another ride for life.
"Which way?" he almost groaned, the next moment, as he looked wildly
round. "Oh, why did we come to hunt for this wretched gold?"