Unconsciously Crockett had turned the head of his horse toward the path, for which he ought to have searched, and his horse suddenly plunged into it, and wheeled off to the right, and followed it at the same headlong speed.
This made traveling a great deal easier, and the mustang plunged along at a really swift gait, his rider every now and then casting his head around, in the expectation of catching a glimpse of those fearless dogs yelping upon his track.
"If they can ride through this wood any faster than me," exclaimed Crockett, as a limb knocked his coon-skin cap from his head, "then I'd like to stop and see them."
He kept up this break-neck pace for some time longer, and hearing nothing of his enemies, he paused and listened. The sound of a leaf that rustled through some branches overhead and fluttered down upon his shoulder was all that reached his ear, besides the hurried breathing of his animal.
"Sartinly if they war coming I'd hear them," he concluded, after listening for a few minutes, and every thing was still as the grave.
Dismounting from his mustang, he knelt down and placed his ear upon the ground. Had there been horsemen anywhere in the neighborhood, the tramp of their feet would have been heard, but to his surprise Crockett heard nothing at all.
"There's one thing sartin," said he, "them Comanches ain't on my trail, so I'll give the hoss a little rest."
With which he drew his animal down to a moderate walk.
By this time it was growing dark, and despite the speed with which Crockett had ridden, he was yet a great deal behindhand, on account of waiting to watch the movements of the red-skins. He ought to have been at the rendezvous long before this.
All through the tumultuous excitement Crockett had clung to his bear-skin with almost the tenacity that he grasped his rifle. He had done it almost unconsciously, even after his cap was swept from his head.