“Now, Murter,” cried the hunter, “giv’ him a good heist, and see if we kin pitch him cl’ar on t’other side; hee-woop!—hoo!”
And with this ejaculation the kicking animal was launched into the air. I could not resist looking after. The yellow body bounded from the face of the opposite cliff, and fell with a heavy plash upon the water below.
He was the last of the pack!
Chapter Forty Four.
An Indian Ruse.
A wild shout now drew our attention, and, looking up the creek, we saw our pursuers just debouching from the woods. They were all mounted, and pressing their mustangs down to the bank, where they halted with a strange cry.
“What is that, Raoul? Can you tell the meaning of that cry?”
“They are disappointed, Captain. They must dismount and foot it like ourselves; there is no crossing for horses.”