"Quicker than the storm!"
The half-tamed mustangs started more rapidly than the wind, making the pebbles strike fire under their hoofs. It was broad day, the prairie extended for an enormous distance, flat, naked, and undiversified; and at only a few paces off, the whole population of the village would not fail soon to notice them. The position was most perilous and critical; the two fugitives knew it, and redoubled their ardour, boldly braving danger. All at once a yell of rage vibrated in the air.
"Courage!" the chief said.
"I have it," the girl replied, with clenched teeth, as she urged her horse to increased speed. "They shall never capture me alive."
The Apaches, who had left their village for a religious festival, had not brought their arms with them, and their horses naturally remained in the stables. This was an hour's respite granted the fugitives.
So soon as the Indians had perceived Doña Clara's flight, the ceremony was interrupted, and all rushed tumultuously toward the village, noisily demanding their weapons and horses. Within a few minutes the most active were in the saddle, and galloping in the traces of Doña Clara and Eagle-wing.
The most celebrated European riders can form no idea of what a pursuit is on the prairies. The Indians are the finest horsemen in the world. Riveted to their steeds, which they squeeze and hold up between their nervous knees, they become identified with them, communicating their passions to them, as it were, by an electric fluid, and, like the Centaurs in the fable, they perform prodigies on horseback; rocks, ravines, hedges, currents—nothing stops or checks this furious race which is allied to madness: a living whirlwind, they fly through space with headlong speed, enveloped in a halo of dust.
Two hours passed thus, and the fugitives, bent over their horses' necks, were unable to take a moment's rest. Their half-maddened steeds, with their coats white with foam, and bleeding nostrils, reeled with fatigue and terror; their trembling sinews scarce supported them, and yet, urged on by their riders, they devoured the space, guessing instinctively that the furious band of Indians was pursuing them at a short distance.
Scarce a thousand yards separated the two parties. Black Cat, furious at having been cheated by a woman, was two horses' length in advance, and was followed by seven or eight Indians, whose horses, fresher than those of the others, had forged ahead. Eagle-wing turned round, and saw four warriors a hundred paces from him.
"Forward!" he shouted to the maiden, as he struck her horse's croup with his whip; and it bounded forward, with a supreme effort, uttering a snort of pain.