"Waking up the camp," muttered Rob, swinging the end of his rope hackamore and bringing it down over the pony's flanks with a resounding "thwack." "Now get a move on, Uncle One-Eyed Horse's pony, for if ever you carried a fellow in need, you've got one on your back to-night."
CHAPTER XIV.
A TOBOGGAN TO DISASTER.
Pluckily forward plunged the pony, as if anxious to redeem his untimely stumble.
"It'll take them some time to get to their ponies and unhobble them," thought Rob. "If I've luck, I may get away yet."
Keeping steadily to the direction the girl had pointed out, the boy pressed on at as fast a clip as he dared. The farther he rode ahead of the pursuing tribe, the better chance he stood of getting beyond their earshot.
It was risky riding, though, through an unknown country on such a dark night. What sort of going it was under foot, Rob could only tell by the uncertain gait of the beast he bestrode. Bushes occasionally brushed in his face, scratching it, and once in a while an extra strong bunch of chaparral would press against his legs, almost brushing him from his pony's back.
Suddenly the way took a steep downward pitch.