“Yes; it’s a horse,” said one of the foremen.
“Two horses,” declared the superintendent. “And coming as though Old Nick were after them.”
Over the moonlit rise swept a figure on horseback, then another.
On discovering the group at the car, the leader uttered a shrill whoop, and tore down the slope toward them.
“The first is Little Hawk! The other is a prisoner! What’s wrong?” cried the superintendent, springing to the ground.
The Indian pulled up in a cloud of dust before him, and threw himself from his reeking pony.
“Want burnum bridge,” he said, indicating his prisoner. “Five, ten, more! Much more! Three boy—tick-knock boy—fightem!
“Hear? Hear?”
He placed his hand to his ear.
The incredulous group turned to the east and listened.