One of the approaching horsemen was far ahead of his comrades, and seemed as if encircled with the flying and voluminous mane of his magnificent horse.
“Hah! ho!” gasped Marston in a low tone to himself, as he flew along. “Crusoe! I’d know ye, dog, among a thousand! A buffalo calf! Ha! git on with ye!”
This last part of the remark was addressed to his horse, and was followed by a whack that increased the pace considerably.
The space between two such riders was soon devoured.
“Hallo! Dick,—Dick Varley!”
“Eh! why, Marston, my boy!”
The friends reined up so suddenly, that one might have fancied they had met like the knights of old in the shock of mortal conflict.
“Is’t yerself, Dick Varley?”
Dick held out his hand, and his eyes glistened, but he could not find words.
Marston seized it, and pushing his horse close up, vaulted nimbly off and alighted on Charlie’s back behind his friend.