“Yes, what I was a thinkin’ on,” muttered his companion, “Mo when-your-right, or Wainwright, you’ll foller.”
The three began stealing along the bank of the river, frequently pausing and listening, but as yet, hearing nothing suspicious. The sky had cleared somewhat during the last hour, and the clouds which had overspread it after the sun went down, and a number of stars were visible. Still it was very gloomy, the party being barely able to discern a few feet in front of them, as they advanced so stealthily upon their way.
Ward took the lead, his form being faintly visible, as he carefully picked his way, while behind him came Harling, and our hero, the young hunter, brought up the rear. The latter had heard them speak of their horses, and knew of course that they must be the owners of animals, which were so indispensable in this desolate country; but he wondered where they were kept, as he failed to see anything of them.
“However, I shall learn all in due time,” was his conclusion, as they walked leisurely along.
They had progressed in this manner perhaps for a third of a mile, when the leader hastily scrambled up the bank the others following, found themselves on the edge of the prairie, which had witnessed the exciting chase between the Comanches and the young hunter, a few hours before.
By this time the sky had cleared and objects could be seen quite distinctly, for a considerable distance. The three men halted and looked out upon the prairie, but saw nothing but darkness.
“Where are your horses!” inquired Wainwright.
“About a mile from here.”
“Aint you afraid of losing them!”
“Not much; they’re lied where it would take a pair of sharp eyes to find them.”