Suddenly he heard the brands behind him rattle as if thrown aside by a hasty hand; the same instant he felt the bands that bound him loosened, and a voice which he instantly recognized as that of Vic Potter, shouted:
“Run for yer life! Take thet, ye yaller rips!” and he fired his rifle with such effect that two savages rolled in the dust, and, drawing his knife, struck another who stood in his path; then snatching Kent’s gun and powder-horn, which leaned against a tree near at hand, he bounded away into the woods, closely followed by Kent, and vanished in a twinkling!
So intent were the Indians on their barbarous work, that this sudden onslaught of the guide completely surprised them, and with such suddenness and celerity did he do his work, that, before they could recover the shock, he was out of sight.
Then, with wild whoops of disappointment and rage they started in pursuit.
“Foller me,” said Vic, as he sprung before the young man, “an’ in tew minits we’ll be out o’ danger, so tew speak. Hear the cusses yell!”
The trapper made no slow work of measuring the distance, and Kent was not far behind. After five minutes of hard running and dodging, the trapper darted round a dense thicket, followed by the other. Kent was surprised to see a man seated on a horse and holding another animal by the halter.
“Up behind me,” shouted Vic, springing into the saddle. “Fleetfoot is good for both of us.”
The young man mounted with a bound, and the horses dashed away.
“Varmints!” exclaimed the trapper. “Jist hear ’em holler! Guess they’ll find the game has guv ’em the slip. Ye see they started after us afoot, an’ in course they can’t catch us thet way, an’ it’ll take ’em some time tew go arter their hosses.”
“You arrived just in time,” said Kent, as they swept along. “Ten minutes later it would have been too late.”