The tramp of ponies’ feet could be heard and the distant baffled yells of savages were wafted up on the breeze.
“The Indians are coming up the pass,” cried Frank, with dismay. “Barney, there’s not an instant to lose.”
“Begorra, yez are roight,” cried the Celt, beginning to make his way up the cliff.
It was a smart climb up the steep wall, but it was safely made at length.
They were now on level ground with the four captors. But a careful reconnoitering of the vicinity showed that they had left.
In the lull in the conflict they had slipped away into the hills.
But Barney took the trail and they went forward again in pursuit.
The sounds of the foe coming up the pass in their rear, however, every moment became plainer.
But fortunately, just at a point where the trail diverged deeper into the hills, the foe must have turned in another direction for very soon the sounds died out.
“We have nothing to fear from them,” cried Frank, with a breath of relief. “They have gone in another direction.”