The two men started back into the forest at a run, and they were just in time, for slinking forms were already stalking the plunging, snorting ponies.
It took but a few moments to free the ponies and lash them together with lead ropes, whereupon the men started back to camp. They hesitated to fire at the beasts, either coyotes or wolves, which were now stalking the ponies, fearing to alarm the girls. Only a slight rustling indicated the presence of the slinking beasts, and that sound continued until the men with the ponies were more than half the way to the camp.
“Hark!” exclaimed the guide suddenly.
“Did you hear that, Lieutenant?”
“No. What was it?”
“Three shots. They weren’t from our camp, either—they were farther away—and I should say from a revolver. Let us hurry on.”
A rifle crashed.
“That one was from our party. I’m going to cut loose. You bring the horses in as best you can.” White cast off the lead rope, and dashed ahead towards the camp, keeping his mount from burying its nose in the ground by sheer muscular effort, as the little animal frequently stumbled, and staggered over obstructions that could not be seen in the darkness. The guide rode into camp at a swift gallop.
“What is it?” he demanded, sweeping the camp with a quick comprehensive glance.
“There isn’t anything the matter,” answered Stacy Brown, who stood leaning on his rifle.