But then, as she paused upon the ridge, a wild cry broke from her lips. A startling sight met her gaze.
Before her, at not more than one-half mile distance, were a number of horsemen, coming toward her at full speed. And even her untrained eyes could tell that they were Indians; their trappings and peculiar manner of riding, outlined upon the red sky beyond, as they crossed a slight swell, told her that.
“My God! I am lost!” gasped Clara, for she believed that these forms were directly between her and her friends, unknowing how the chase after the rabbit had caused her to deviate from a true line.
But then as a shrill cry came to her ears, borne over the intervening space by the light breeze, she wrenched her horse’s head around and dashed down the slope at a break-neck pace. Only one thought possessed her now: to increase the distance between her and these dusky fiends, of whose daring she had heard so many frightful incidents.
And now the race was begun in sober earnest. It was no longer one of mere sport; freedom, perhaps even life depended upon her retaining the vantage-ground thus fortunately gained.
The truth may be told in a few words. These savages were but part of the band that had pursued old Tom Maxwell, who, after discovering the riderless horse, had suspected the ruse, and were searching for the emigrant train. They had caught sight of Clara, just after she set off in pursuit of the rabbit, and a band of them immediately spurred forth to effect her capture.
There was one circumstance in Clara’s favor, though she did not think of it then. The sun had already sunk behind the western horizon, and in a short time more, the shades of night would hide her from her enemies, provided she could elude their clutches for so long.
But then she knew not whither she was going. Ignorant of what lay before her, in a strange and wild region, what hope was there for her?
Even supposing she should escape these enemies, how could she subsist in that wide prairie, destitute of food, or even the means of procuring any? She would only starve to death, die by slow degrees!
And thus she sped on, carefully assisting her noble horse, as he labored on. Fortunate indeed it was for her that he was a mustang, prairie born and bred; tough and hardy, though not remarkably fleet at a short stretch.