It was a long shot, but effective, for an Apaché pony fell headlong down, and a couple more went over it, causing a slight diversion in their favour—so much, trifling as it was, that the Beaver and his party gained a few yards, and instead of galloping right down upon them, the Apachés began to edge off a little in the same direction as that in which the fugitives were rushing.
And still they tore on, while at last the Apachés edged off more and more, till they were racing on about a hundred yards to their left, afraid to close in lest their prey should get too far ahead; and they were all tearing on in this fashion when the last scout was reached, already in motion to retreat now and lose no time, setting spurs to his pony as the Beaver passed, and then came the final gallop to the gateway for life or death.
For now came the question—would the firing of their friends check the Apachés, or would they press on in deadly strife to the bitter end?
“Ride close up to the rock below Joses,” shouted the Beaver; “then jump off on the right side of your horse, turn and fire;” and with these words, spoken in broken English, ringing in his ears, Bart felt his spirits rise, and uttering a cheer full of excitement, he rose in his stirrups and galloped on.
The endurance of the little horses was wonderful, but all the same the peril was of a terrible nature; for the ground which they were forced to take close in under the perpendicular mountain walls was strewn with blocks of stone, some of a large size, that had to be skirted, while those of a smaller size were leaped by the hardy little animals, and Bart felt that the slightest swerve or a fall meant death of the most horrible kind.
Twice over his cob hesitated at a monstrous piece of rock. And each time Bart nearly lost his seat; but he recovered it and raced on.
Faster and faster they swept along, the Indian followers of the Beaver urging their horses on by voice and action, while the yells of the Apachés acted like so many goads to the frightened beasts.
Would they hear them on the rocks? Would Joses be ready? Would the Doctor give their enemies a salutation? Would they never reach the gateway?
These and a dozen other such questions passed like lightning through Bart’s brain in those moments of excitement; for the rocky gateway, that had seemed so near to the first scout when they set out that morning and cantered off, now appeared at an interminable distance, and as if it would never be reached; while the Apachés, as if dreading that their prey might escape, were now redoubling their efforts, as Bart could see when he glanced over his left shoulder.
But on the little band of fugitives swept, so close together that their horses almost touched; and, unless some unforeseen accident occurred—a slip, a stumble, or a fatal shot—they would soon be in comparative safety.