Jethro dropped on his knees and pressed an ear to the ground. He had done the same thing in different circumstances, and knew what help it was to the hearing.
The next instant he sprang up.
“De Injins am coming! I hear dar hosses!”
Alden imitated the action of his companion and then quickly rose.
“It is a single horse, and he is coming this way on a run; I don’t think the Indians are near or we should hear more hoofs; I wish Shagbark would show up.”
But the guide did not appear for some minutes. Still standing the two noted the sounds made by the hoofs of a pony traveling at the highest speed. The sounds rapidly grew more distinct, and the two were quickly able to locate the horseman. It was toward the point whence came the rifle reports, and the fugitive must have had something to do with them.
“Dar he is!” whispered Jethro trembling with excitement; “shall I shoot him?”
“No; wait till we find what it all means.”
Just then the drifting clouds swept from before the face of the moon, whose rays streamed down upon the prairie. From out this misty obscurity shot a horse and rider, the animal with outstretched neck, tail streaming and straining every nerve to carry the man who was leaning well forward, beyond the zone of danger. The same rhythmic beat that had fallen on their ears that afternoon greeted them again. The pony was running for all that was in him.