A sudden impulse led Brinton to repeat the whistle which he had vainly emitted some time before, when groping along the bank of the Big Cheyenne. Instantly a faint neigh answered, and a pony assumed shape in the darkness as he approached on a joyous trot.
"My own Jack!" exclaimed the overjoyed youth, flinging his arms about the neck of his favourite and kissing his silken nose; "Heaven be thanked that you are restored to me at last. But where are the folk?"
Ay, where were they?
CHAPTER VII.
"IT CAME LIKE ONE OF THEM KANSAN CYCLONES."
As he was on the point of giving up all hope of ever seeing him again, Brinton Kingsland was naturally overjoyed at meeting his favourite pony. The situation of the young man would have proved a sad one, had he been compelled to wander over the prairie on foot, for he would have been liable to encounter hostiles at any moment.
With the coming of daylight, he could hardly expect to avoid detection by some of the numerous bands galloping hither and thither, ready to pounce upon any defenceless settlers, or to cut off the squads of scouts and soldiers whenever there was a chance of doing so with little peril to themselves.
And Jack showed as much delight as his master. He thrust his nose forward, and whinnied softly in response to the endearments of Brinton. Doubtless he had been searching for him for some time.
"I tell you, old boy, there are only three persons whom I would rather see just now than you; I won't mention their names, for you know them as well as I do. Where are they? Surely they can't be far off."
An examination of the horse disclosed that his saddle and bridle were intact, thus proving that he had not been in the hands of any enemies, who indeed would not have allowed him to stray off in this fashion.