Crouching low down, he ran at a rapid pace out over the level prairie, in the direction he must follow in order to strike the Main Trail, which they had so unfortunately—as it proved—deviated from, a couple of days previously. The moon still shone brightly, and there was great danger of his being discovered by some of the lynx-eyed savages, who surrounded the wagon-train.
But this, Ayres resolved to risk, rather than lose any more time, although he knew that, in case he should be seen, there could be but one ending to the affair.
Fortunately for him, perhaps the suspicions of the red-skins had been lulled by the recent capture of Tom Maxwell, for they believed him to be the one who had slain their brother below the corral, as well as the one beside whose body he had been captured. Thus they did not dream of another foeman being at liberty so near them.
As Ayres glanced back over his shoulder, a shudder crept over his frame, for he now realized the full extent of the great peril he was daring. Behind him he could quite plainly distinguish the dark corral, and still nearer, the numerous figures, dusky and phantom-like, moving restlessly hither and yon, that he knew were none other than savages.
It seemed as though they could not fail of seeing him, and as he once more sped on at an accelerated speed, Buenos listened with painful intentness, expecting each moment to hear the shrill war-cry peal forth, telling that the bloodthirsty demons were upon his trail.
But then he crossed the slight rise, and the fear-inspiring sight was hidden from his view. Then breathing more freely, he took the pole-star for his guide, and dashed on at break-neck speed, every nerve strained to its utmost tension, and his heart wildly throbbing with renewed hope of success.
For well-nigh an hour he maintained this killing pace, but then Nature forced him to slacken his gait, and proceed with more prudence. His eyes were roving upon every side of him, trying to recall some landmark, though he well knew he was yet far from the Main Trail—the object of his quest.
He crossed a slight swell and trotted down the opposite slope, into a sort of valley, if it may be called such. Then he began ascending the next rise.
Suddenly he paused. A suspicious sound saluted his hearing; the thud—thud—of a horse’s hoofs beating upon the hard turf in a full gallop.
And this, too, he soon found was approaching him, for the trampling grew louder and more distinct. But it was not coming from the direction of the corral, though this was Ayres’ first thought. Instead it was coming from directly in his front.