"Too late—too late, boy!" muttered Castor, his glowing eyes sweeping around their position. "D'y' hear that?"
As he spoke, faint, far-away yells of discovery came to their ears, borne upon the light breeze. And then the savages were observed to bound forward toward them, spreading out as if to surround their intended prey.
"Quick! to the timber—it is our only chance now!" shouted Stevens excitedly, as he urged the snorting horse forward.
"Back—hold on, boy," cried Castor, a determined expression resting upon his countenance "'Twon't do—they'd rout us out o' thar in a minnit. We must try somethin' else."
"But what? My God! man, do you intend to stay here and let them murder us all?" almost shrieked Wilson.
"No—follow me. Let the hosses went—don't hold 'em in. Keep up 'th me ef you kill the critters!"
As Tobe spoke, he turned abruptly to the left, and dashed off at full speed. For a moment the others hesitated, but his decisive action overruled their doubts, and they hotly followed in his lead.
It seemed a suicidal course, this one of the old scout's, for he was leaving the friendly motte almost directly behind him, and was speeding over the rolling prairie toward a point where there was nothing to be seen save a bare hillside. And after them came the wildly yelling red-skins, who now seemed confident of their prey, for the thick, tangled weeds impeded the advance of a horse still more than that of a footman.
CHAPTER X.