It is probable that the savage contemplated some movement of the kind, but he must have known the fatal risk involved. Quick as he was, he could not whirl about and bring his gun to a level before the young man would pull the trigger of the Winchester, which was held pointed toward him. He knew that so long as he obeyed orders he would be unharmed, and he would have been a zany had he hesitated to do so.
He did not hesitate, but with a deliberate step that was not lacking in a certain dignity he walked slowly between the trees, with his captor only a few paces behind and keeping pace with him.
Almost on the edge of the grove Jack Dudley made an interesting discovery. A pony, smaller than the one he had ridden from Fort Steele, stood motionless in the shadow, awaiting the return of his master. He was not tethered or tied, for he was too well-trained to make that necessary. He showed his fine training further by merely pricking his ears and elevating his head upon the approach of his master and companion. A whinny or neigh might have betrayed both.
The two were now so far removed from the glow of the camp-fire that they could see each other only dimly. There was no moon in the sky, though the stars were shining brightly. The Indian, from the force of circumstances, was compelled to hold his disadvantageous position, inasmuch as he had to move out from among the trees, while Jack remained within their shadows.
Realizing that this was a critical moment, he stood motionless, with his weapon still at a dead level.
"My gun is aimed at your heart," he said, "and I am watching every movement you make. Go in peace, and you shall not be harmed, but on your first attempt to injure me you die."
The words, perhaps, were unnecessary, for it may be said that the action of the youth was more eloquent. Be that as it may, the redskin showed a commendable promptness in all that he did. He vaulted lightly upon the bare back of his pony, whose bridle consisted of but a single thong, and turned the head of the brute outward. He did not speak, for it was not required. The pony knew what was wanted; and, with his nose pointed out on the prairie, he emerged from among the trees into the open, with the warrior astride.
Even in that trying moment Jack Dudley was surprised at one fact—that was the wonderful silence of the animal. It would seem that his hoofs should have given out sounds that could have been heard for a considerable distance in the stillness of the night, but it was as if he were treading on velvet. The noise was so faint that it was easy to understand how he had come to the spot without betraying himself to the intently listening sentinel. No wonder that the Indian ponies sometimes display a sagacity fully equal, in some respects, to that of their masters.
The Indian showed in another direction his perception of the situation. Had he been leaving the presence of one of his own race, or of a veteran white scout, he would have thrown himself forward on the back of his animal and ridden off on a dead run, for, despite the unexpected mercy shown him, he would have expected treachery at the last minute; but he had seen his master and knew that he was a young tenderfoot, inspired by a chivalrous honor which is the exception in that section of the country. He would not shoot until good cause was given, and therefore he took care not to give such cause.
As if in harmony with the spirit of his rider, the pony walked away in a direct line, until the figure of himself and master disappeared in the gloom. When he could see him no more, Jack lowered his gun, and stooping down, pressed his ear against the earth. He could hear the soft hoof-beats of the horse growing fainter and fainter, until at the end of a minute or two the impressive silence once more held reign. Then the youth arose to his feet.