“More speed,” said Hale, who was peering over his shoulder.
“More speed it is,” said Frank, and pulling his reins sharply, at the same time altering his course slightly.
Charley Gorse did likewise, and at an increased rate they rushed onward to the aid of the little handful of fugitive men.
Pomp had reloaded his revolvers, and was now perched up by Charley once more, the deadly weapons flashing in the afternoon sunlight.
Barney and Harry Hale, standing up in the truck of the Steam Horse, grasped their guns with an eager grip, telling how they longed to use them.
The immense spurt of speed brought them rapidly upon the course passed over by the flying band of white men, and the man and horse out in between the two parties.
Two shrill whistles rang out, and then the white horsemen—Harry Hale’s men—pulled up sharp, and dashed back to take a hand in the fight, feeling confident that the mixed band of red and white rascals could not contend successfully with the wonderful inventions of Frank Reade.
The prisoners seemed to have no wish to meet with the man and horse, for they checked their steeds sharply when they discovered the rescuing party, and endeavored to cut away.
“Half circle, and cut them off!” yelled Frank to Charley.