“What is it, Nathan? Is there great danger?”
“No, guess not,” he replied, absently. Then rousing himself to consider her question, he continued: “Probably they’ll find our trail, but I guess we’ll be near enough the fort tew distance ’em. Shan’t worry, anyway.”
An animated discussion of the probabilities of their being pursued sprung up, while the trapper relapsed into his former gravity and silence.
Mile after mile detached itself from the distance, and stretched itself away behind them, until only a few remained between them and their destination, when, suddenly, a long shout reached them, and looking back they beheld a slight eminence about half a mile distant, covered with a war-party of Indians.
“We’re in for it,” muttered Wild Nat. “Forrard all!”
The fugitives quickened their pace at once, and whooping and yelling the Indians followed, and the race was fairly begun. Our friends felt but little anxiety, as their horses were comparatively fresh, and the distance to Fort Laramie so short, but a race with Indians, even under the most auspicious circumstances, can not fail to be exciting.
For a time the two parties maintained their relative positions, and then the Indians began to gain slowly. Already the fugitives felt comparatively safe, so near were they to their destination, and the knowledge of this fact served to stimulate their pursuers with renewed energy. On they flew, their horses straining every nerve, their battle-axes and war-spears glittering in the sun, and a deafening roar of whoops filling the air.
“Thet’s lovely music,” remarked Vic, with a grin, “an’ thar’s the akompanyment,” he added, as a shower of arrows flew around them. “’Tain’t no use tew dodge, after they’ve gone past,” as Scip made frantic efforts to elude the flying arrows. “We’ll be out of danger in a few minits. See, thar’s the fort!”
Amid a shower of death-winged missives the little band of fugitives flew on, up the little rise that led to the fort, closely followed by their pursuers, who were evidently determined to abandon their purpose only when forced to do so. Occasionally a bullet, from a rifle in the hands of the savages, whizzed through the air with its peculiar whistling music, losing itself in the space beyond.
Suddenly Kent, who was near Wild Nat, observed a deadly pallor overspread the trapper’s face, and saw him reel in his seat. With a presentiment of danger, the young man caught the falling man and supported him, until in an instant they were all safe within the walls of the fort.