All at once a shrill whistle rang through the trees; and the horse uttered a loud neigh—as if in reply—galloping off in the direction from which the signal had come. After making several lengths through the bushes, the horse came to a stop. Bois-Rose ran after, and in a few bounds was beside the animal. It was still dark under the shadow of the trees, but the Canadian could make out the form of a man upon the ground, at that moment struggling in the act of raising himself. Just then the horse dropped upon his knees, the man grasping the pommel of the saddle succeeded in crawling into it; a signal started the animal to his feet again; and before the trapper could come up to the spot, both horse and man were fast disappearing behind the foliage of the trees.
Bois-Rose launched after them a furious malediction; and reloading his rifle as rapidly as he could, sent a bullet in the same direction; but the continued strokes of the horse’s feet falling upon his ear told him that his random shot had been delivered to no purpose.
Without following further, he turned in the opposite direction, and after imitating three times in succession, the howling of the prairie wolf—a signal for Pepé—he strode off to the spot where the yellow jacket had fallen from the saddle.
There he perceived the grass pressed down as if where a man’s body had fallen upon it; and at about the height of a man on horseback, the branches of the sumac tree were broken, as though the horseman had caught at them in falling. There were no traces of blood, however—not a drop could be seen; but a carbine lying upon the ground showed that the horseman, in his hurry to escape, had left his weapon behind him.
“My poor Fabian!” muttered he, “this will serve for him. In these woods a knife is not much worth; this will be a better weapon for him.”
Somewhat consoled by this reflection, the trapper now turned to go back in the direction of the camp-fire. He had not made a dozen steps, when the sharp report of a rifle fell upon his ear.
“It is Pepé’s!” he cried. “I know it. God grant he may have made a better shot than I have done!”
Just then a second report echoed through the woods. It sounded sadly on the ear of the Canadian—who did not recognise it—and being now the victim of a terrible uncertainty, he ran with all speed in the direction whence the sound had come.
Another report that now reached him added to the anguish of his suspense; for this time, like the last, it was not the well-known crack of his comrade’s rifle.
Almost at the same instant, however, he heard Pepé’s voice calling out: