"What has become of those fellows?" he abruptly asked himself, as his eye glanced hastily around in search of the hunters from whom he had now been separated the better portion of twenty-four hours. "I can't understand how we got so far apart. If they meant the whole thing as a joke, I think it is played out by this time."
He was a little nettled when he came to reflect that the parting was probably arranged by Dick and Tom for the purpose of giving him a lesson in prairie traveling and prairie life. Perhaps they believed that some amusement might be obtained in this way.
"If they think I can't get along without 'em, I'll show them their mistake," he said to himself. "There can't be many days' travel between me and Fort Havens, and so long as I've got such a horse—he knows better than they can how to keep me out of such scrapes—"
At this juncture he was startled by the action of the mustang. He was walking along, when he began staggering from side to side. Then he paused, as if to steady himself. A groan followed and he sank heavily to the ground, rolling upon his side so quickly that his rider narrowly escaped being crushed beneath him. And then, as the dismayed Ned sprang to his feet, he saw that his loved mustang was dead!
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE LONE CAMP FIRE.
When the pursuing Apaches first fired their two shots, one of them slightly wounded the hand of young Chadmund, while the other, unsuspected by the lad, buried itself in the body of the mustang and inflicted a fatal wound. It was characteristic of the noble creature that his indomitable courage should remain to the last. He kept up his astonishing speed until his rider voluntarily checked him, and then his gait remained his natural one until nature succumbed and he dropped dead.
It would be hard to say which emotion was the most poignant in the breast of the young wanderer. He had learned to love the noble mustang during their brief companionship, and he had discovered, too, how impossible it was for him to make any substantial progress without a good horse to ride. He had lost the best steed he had ever bestrode, and was again thrown upon his own resources. It was natural and creditable to the lad that, as he looked at the fallen steed, and reflected how faithfully he had served him, his hands should seek his eyes. So they did, and he spent full ten minutes in a regular old-fashioned cry, such as he had not enjoyed since receiving a good trouncing at the hands of his parent.
When his grief had subsided somewhat, he bade the unconscious form good-bye, and with his rifle over his shoulder started ahead again. He could not bear even to remove the blanket which was strapped around the body of the mustang, and which was likely to be of great service to him in his wanderings.