“They’ll either attack with one of their savage yells, or else give one in their rage when they find that we are gone. That will be the signal for us to mount and ride for our lives. Indians are swift of foot, boy.”
It seemed an hour, during which every ear was on the strain, but probably it was not a fourth of that time, before the fierce yell of the savages was heard; but it only reached the fugitives as a faint whisper, followed by another.
Fortunately the retiring party had reached where the gulch had opened out, and quite a broad band of brilliant stars was spread overhead from rock-wall to rock-wall, giving sufficient light for the ponies to follow one another in Indian file at a good round trot, which was kept up hour after hour, with intervals of walking and the indulgence now in a little conversation regarding the distance ahead of the mule-train or the possibility of its being missed.
But Griggs was positive.
“No,” he said, “we can’t have over-run them.”
“But have they turned off somewhere? I don’t remember any side valley, but we may have passed one.”
“No, we mayn’t, sir,” said Griggs coolly. “We don’t know it—at least, I don’t suppose you did, for I fancy I do—but if the mules had turned off anywhere our clever mustangs would have done the same. They’ve been following the mules’ trail ever since we started.”
“What! Impossible in this darkness.”
“Think so, sir? Well, suppose you wait and see.”
There was silence for awhile, before the doctor rode to the front again to where Chris was now beside Griggs.