He knew that he could reach this point before the hostiles would comprehend what had taken place, and consequently before they would attempt to pursue him. Since he had no chance against their fleet ponies, he would have been speedily run down had he continued his flight down the river bed, for he heard the sound of their hoofs as they dashed after him.
The pursuers were cunning. Their ears had told them the course he had taken. Several forced their animals down the bank, to prevent his turning back over his own trail, while the others galloped close to the edge above, all the party taking the same direction. Thus it would seem that but one desperate hope remained to him, which was to dash into the river and struggle to the other side. But the splash would betray him. The water was probably deep enough to force him to swim. With the thermometer below zero, and encumbered by his clothing, he must perish with cold, if he did not drown.
Where then was the hope of eluding the hostiles, who were clinging so persistently to his track?
There was none excepting in the trick to which he had resorted, and Brinton knew it.
He was no more than fairly nestled in his hiding-place, when the clatter of hoofs showed that one of the horsemen was almost upon him. He could only hug the base of the bank, and pray for the danger to pass. It did pass, but it was sure speedily to return. It was this belief which led the youth to resort to another artifice, that would have done credit to an experienced ranger of the plains.
Instead of turning about and running upstream under the bank, he waited until the horsemen above had also passed, and were invisible in the gloom. Then he hastily clambered up the slight bluff, rattling down the dirt again in a way that sent a shiver through him. Had they been as near as before, they must have certainly discovered him; but if the noise or the crumbling dirt reached the ears of any, they supposed it was caused by some of their companions, for no effort at investigation was made.
Upon solid ground once more, Brinton sped straight out over the plain, and directly away from the river, until he dared to pause, look around and listen.
He saw and heard nothing to renew his fear.
"Can it be that I have shaken them off at last?" he asked himself; "it begins to look like it. Where under heaven can the folk be? I hope they have pushed toward the Agency, and nothing will happen to them."
Now it was that he detected something, so faint and indistinct that at first he could not identify it; but, while he wondered and listened, it resolved itself into the sounds of a horse's hoofs. They were not such as are made by an animal galloping or trotting, but by walking. Furthermore, he heard but the one series of footfalls.