Bart had the advantage of his enemies in this, that as long as he could
keep well out of sight across the plains, he could go on as fast as his
horse could gallop, while they had to cautiously track his every step.
Then, too, when he came to dry, rocky, or stony portions, he took
advantage thereof, for he knew that his horse's hoof-prints would be
indistinct, and sometimes disappear altogether. These portions of the
trail gave the Apaches endless difficulty, but they kept on tracking him
step by step, and one slip on the lad's part would have been fatal.
Fortune favoured him, though, and he pressed on, hitting the backward
route pretty accurately, and recognising the various mountains and hills
they had passed under the Beaver's guidance; and every stride taken by
the untiring little horse had its effect upon the lad, for it was one
nearer to safety.
Still it was a terrible ride, for it was only after traversing some
stony plain or patch of rock that he dared draw rein and take a few
hours' rest, while his steed fed and recruited its energies as well.
He would lie down merely meaning to rest, and then drop off fast asleep,
to awake in an agony of dread, tighten his saddle-girths, and go on
again at speed, gazing fearfully behind him, expecting to see the
Apaches ready to spring upon him and end his career.
But they were still, though he knew it not, far behind. All the same,
though, they kept up their untiring tracking of the trail day after day
till it was too dark to see, and the moment it was light enough to
distinguish a footprint they were after him again.
Such a pertinacious quest could apparently have but one result--that of
the quarry of these wolves being hunted down at last.
The days glided by, and Bart's store of provisions held out, for he
could hardly eat, only drink with avidity whenever he reached water.
The terrible strain had made his face thin and haggard, his eyes
bloodshot, and his hands trembled as he grasped the rein--not from fear,
but from nervous excitement consequent upon the little sleep he
obtained, his want of regular food, and the feeling of certainty that he
was being dogged by his untiring foes.
Sometimes to rest himself--a strange kind of rest, it may be said, and
yet it did give him great relief--he would spring from Black Boy's back,
and walk by his side as he toiled up some rough slope, talking to him
and encouraging him with pats of the hand, when the willing little
creature strove again with all its might on being mounted; in fact,
instead of having to whip and spur, Bart found more occasion to hold in
his patient little steed.
And so the time went on, till it was as in a dream that Bart recognised
the various halting-places they had stayed at in the journey out, while
the distance seemed to have become indefinitely prolonged. All the
while, too, there was that terrible nightmare-like dread haunting him
that the enemy were close behind, and scores of times some deer or other
animal was magnified into a mounted Indian in full war-paint ready to
bound upon his prey.
It was a terrible journey--terrible in its loneliness as well as in its
real and imaginary dangers; for there was a good deal of fancied dread
towards the latter part of the time, when Bart had reached a point where
the Apaches gave up their chase, civilisation being too near at hand for
them to venture farther.
On two occasions, though, the lad was in deadly peril; once when,
growing impatient, the Apaches, in hunting fashion, had made a cast or
two to recover the trail they had lost, galloping on some miles, and
taking it up again pretty close to where Bart had been resting again
somewhat too long for safety, though far from being long enough to
recoup the losses he had sustained.
The next time was under similar circumstances, the Apaches picking up
the sign of his having passed over the plain close beside a patch of
rising ground, where he had been tempted into shooting a prong-horn
antelope, lighting a fire, and making a hearty meal, of which he stood
sadly in need.
The meal ended, a feeling of drowsiness came over the feaster, and this
time Bart did not yield to it, for he felt that he must place many more
miles behind him before it grew dark; so, rolling up the horse-hair
lariat by which Black Boy had been tethered, once again he tightened the
girths, and was just giving his final look round before mounting,
congratulating himself with the thought that he had enough good roasted
venison to last him for a couple more days, when his horse pricked his
ears and uttered an impatient snort.
Just at the same moment there was the heavy thud, thud, thud, of horses'
hoofs, and, without stopping to look, Bart swung himself up on his
horse's back and urged him forward with hand, heel, and voice.
The plain before him was as level as a meadow, not a stone being in
sight for miles, so that unless the cob should put his foot in some
burrow, there was nothing to hinder his racing off and escaping by sheer
speed.
There was this advantage too: Black Boy had been having a good rest and
feed, while the pursuers had doubtless been making a long effort to
overtake him.
The Apaches set up a furious yell as they caught sight of their prey,
and urged on their horses, drawing so near before Bart could get
anything like a good speed on, that they were not more than fifty yards
behind, and thundering along as fast as they could urge their ponies.
This went on for half a mile, Bart feeling as if his heart was in his
mouth, and that the chances of escape were all over; but somehow, in
spite of the terrible peril he was in, he thought more about the Doctor
and the fate of his expedition than he did of his own. For it seemed so
terrible that his old friend and guardian--one who had behaved to him
almost as a father should be waiting there day after day expecting help
in vain, and perhaps thinking that his messenger had failed to do his
duty.
"No, he won't, nor Joses neither, think that of me," muttered Bart. "I
wish the Beaver were here to cheer one up a bit, as he did that other
time when these bloodthirsty demons were after us."
"How their ponies can go!" he panted, as he turned his head to gaze back
at the fierce savages, who tore along with feathers and long hair
streaming behind them, as wild and rugged as the manes and tails of
their ponies.
As they saw him look round, the Apaches uttered a tremendous yell,
intended to intimidate him. It was just as he had begun to fancy that
Black Boy was flagging, and that, though no faster, the Indians' ponies
were harder and more enduring; but, at the sound of that yell and the
following shouts of the insatiate demons who tore on in his wake, the
little black cob gathered itself together, gave three or four tremendous
bounds, stretched out racing fashion, and went away at a speed that
astonished his rider as much as it did the savages, who began to fire at
them now, bullet after bullet whizzing by as they continued their
headlong flight.
The sound of the firing, too, had its effect on Black Boy, whose ear was
still sore from the effect of the bullet that had passed through it, and
he tore away more furiously than ever, till, finding that the Indians
were losing ground, Bart eased up a little, but only to let the cob go
again, for he was fretting at being held in, and two or three times a
bullet came in pretty close proximity to their heads.
When night fell, the Apaches were on the other side of a long low ridge,
down whose near slope the cob had come at a tremendous rate; and now
that the Indians would not be able to follow him for some hours to come
either by sight or trail, Bart altered his course, feeling sure that he
could save ground by going to the right instead of to the left of the
mountain-clump before him; and for the next few hours he breathed more
freely, though he dared not stop to rest.
The next day he saw nothing of his pursuers, and the next they were
pursuers no longer, but Bart knew it not, flying still for his life,
though he was now in the region that would be swept by the lancers of
the Government.
He did not draw rein till the light-coloured houses of the town were
well within sight, and then he was too much excited to do more than ease
up into a canter, for his nerves were all on the strain, his cheeks
sunken, and his eyes starting and dull from exhaustion.
But there was the town at last, looking indistinct, though, and misty.
All seemed to be like a dream now, and the crowd of swarthy, ragged
Mexicans in their blankets, sombreros, and rugs were all part of his
dream, too, as with his last effort he thrust his hand into his breast,
and took out the letter of which he was the bearer. Then it seemed to
him that, as he cantered through the crowd, with his cob throwing up the
dust of the plaza, it was some one else who waved a letter over his
head, shouting, "The governor! the governor!" to the swarthy staring
mob; and, lastly, that it was somebody else who, worn out with
exhaustion now that the task was done, felt as if everything had gone
from him, every nerve and fibre had become relaxed, and fell heavily
from the cob he rode into the dust.