“Oh, where shall I go—what shall I do? Oh, heaven! I would I had never left them. Be quiet, I say, Dimple? what do you mean?”
The pony was stamping violently, and with tossing head was staring over the plain. Mechanically Kissie followed his gaze.
Away on the distant horizon (the eastern one, though she did not know it) she saw a solitary speck, moving slowly. It was that which had caused the mustang’s alarm. It had evidently been in sight for some time, for now she remembered the pony had been restless for considerable time. It was some animal, perhaps a solitary horseman. Indeed, by straining her eyes, she was almost certain it was the latter, as she thought she could distinguish the necessary outlines of a mounted man.
The object was a man, and mounted on a black powerful horse. It was Pedro Felipe.
Had she known it was a white man, had she any reason to suppose he was not an enemy, she would have at once spurred toward him; but, knowing that numerous Indians were at all times scouring the plains, she desired rather to give him a wide berth, fearing he was one of that dreaded race.
She raised her whip, and striking the mustang sharply, was riding away when a new object appeared on the horizon, opposite the Mexican. Object? rather a number of blots, moving toward her. This she could tell as they appeared stationary while they rose and fell, like a galloping horse.
She had seen such objects before, and knew they were galloping animals. Knowing that scarcely any animals frequented the plain, from its sterility, she readily became aware that they were a band of mounted men.
She felt her heart leap joyously; it was her friends. They had doubtless become alarmed at her prolonged absence, and had started in search of her. Filled with joy at the thought, she pressed on, her fears at rest. Just then she looked for the far-distant, lone rider—he was not in sight; he had vanished.
Suddenly she stopped the mustang, and a deadly pallor overspread her countenance, a wild fear arose within her. She had counted thirteen distinct objects moving toward her.
Her father’s party numbered seven—the one approaching numbered thirteen; it could not be her friends—it could not.