“Now get away at good gait, and hard to the left.”
When the Indians at last rounded the end of the divide they were surprised at the change of course by their intended victims, and the gain the fugitives had made on them, and also that the white riders still seemed to be riding leisurely and were not looking backward.
The whites were now almost at the north end of another ridge that ran away toward the southwest, and would soon pass from view.
The Indians suspected that they had been tricked by the seemingly unconcerned white riders. They would not be fooled so again, and, as soon as the fugitives had passed out of sight, turned their ponies and urged them with all speed toward the divide and up its long, wind-breaking rise.
At last they had reached the top, but instead of discovering their prey just down the other side, swinging into the south again, they were nowhere in view.
The Indians were puzzled, but urged their tired ponies along the high land toward the point where the scout and his pards had last been seen. At the end of the bluff the party was still undiscoverable; but there was their plain trail leading away into the southeast, and back from behind another ridge, a mile away, came the clear notes of a bugle.
The red men had been hoodwinked by an old trick of their own.