Further to the west and north, where many extensive ranches were to be found, the grazing was no better, and often not so good. Miles to the southward, beyond the calmly flowing river, the ragged Apache range lifted its crest against the sky, stretching east and west, further than the eye could reach, and forming one of the wildest spurs of the Rocky Mountain system.
It was toward the fastnesses of this range that the hostiles were making with the desperate energy of men who knew that success meant life and failure the opposite. If they could place the river between them and their pursuers, they would be safe: could they do it?
The dusky horsemen were about a mile from the river when the first sight of them was obtained. Lieutenant Decker, who had forged slightly ahead of the rest, thundered up one of the numerous slopes, only a few feet in height, at the moment that the fugitives shot over the crest of a similar one. They were seen distinctly riding close together, and with their ponies at the highest speed.
“We are gaining!” shouted the lieutenant; “don’t spare your horses! we shall catch them!”
In truth the animals had not been spared from the first. It was cruel to push them thus, but the stakes warranted it. That little life was worth more than the lives of any multitude of mustangs.
The fact that the whites had gained up to this time was ground for belief they would continue to do so, and much ought to be done before the stream was reached.
Hardly a word was exchanged, except now and then, between the lieutenant and Mr. Freeman. Peyser, Colgate and Redfield kept their ponies at the high pace, while they sat grimly in their saddles leaning forward to catch the earliest sight possible of the fugitives. Mendez rode his own mustang, a wiry little mare of coal black color, that was one of the hardiest and fleetest of her kind.
The White Mountain Apache kept a little to the left of the rest, as if he preferred the companionship of his thoughts to that of men. The speed of his animal lifted the coarse black hair, that generally dangled about his shoulders, and caused it to flutter in a gale, like the mane and tail of his steed. His stolid face was without pain, and it must be confessed that it was not pleasant to look upon. It was broad, with protruding cheek bones, the mouth was wide, and the nose was scarred and broken years before in some ugly affray of which he never spoke.
The American Indian always shows little muscular development, but those half-bare arms and legs were like tempered steel. Mendez, more than once, had trotted up the side of a mountain, for a quarter of a mile, and, when he stopped, his respiration was no faster than at starting. Many others of his people have done the same thing and can do it to-day.