Cautiously peering through the leafy screen before them the three fugitives could just distinguish the faint, shadowy outlines of a number of horsemen, down in the valley. These soon crossed the creek, and then one being left in charge of the horses, the rest—six in number—dismounted and began quartering over the ground, like hounds searching for a lost scent.
The soldier tightly compressed his lips, and grasped his rifle with deadly determination. He saw that the enemy had evidently divined the manner in which their anticipated victim had escaped them—at least in part—and believed she was still hiding in some place in the vicinity.
It was not probable they were aware of the presence of other foes in the neighborhood, else they would have displayed more caution. Evidently they believed Clara had abandoned her failing horse, and sought safety by lying in concealment.
The moonlight was too faint and uncertain for the savages to learn aught from a trail upon the rocky ground, and that fact was in favor of the fugitives. Still, there could be no denying that they were in imminent peril of their lives.
The Arapahoes scattered and began a close and systematic search of the ground, peering behind each bowlder, into every bush and cranny where a human form might possibly have sought refuge. The six were widely scattered, the better to compass their purpose.
Upon the movements of one of the savages in particular, was the attention of the three friends riveted. He alone of the party was in close proximity to the hidden prey.
He was a large, brawny warrior, and was now gliding along the hill-side, gradually approaching the covert of our friends, carefully scrutinizing every yard of ground as he proceeded. Presently he paused and glanced keenly around him. Then his piercing gaze rested fairly upon the line of bushes that screened the base of the cliff.
His tall, muscular frame, drawn rigidly erect, in all the pride of war-paint and plumes, looked grandly terrible in the glimmering moonlight, and even the eyes of Delaware Tom emitted a momentary gleam of admiration as they dwelt upon the perfect figure. But then this gave place to a glare of deadly hatred as if he recognized a bitter personal enemy in the warrior.
The Arapahoe stood thus for a moment, and then began gliding up the hill-side, his eyes seeming to pierce through and through the screen, so keen was their glance. He saw that this was a good cover, and believed or hoped that the fugitive had taken refuge there.
Travers crouched down and drew his revolver, with a stern demeanor, but then a light touch upon his shoulder caused him to turn his head. The Delaware made a peculiar gesture, and then hissed: