The guide had not aimed at Red Buffalo, for he wanted to kill that worthy in a square stand-up fight.
Three of the Comanche warriors fell over, and the rest were somewhat surprised for a moment.
Recovering quickly, they gave a loud war-cry and came forward with a rush. They entered among the trees, but no enemy was in sight. On they went, and at length emerged on the open plain on the other side of the grove.
A howl of joy broke from the lips of Red Buffalo, for there, not far in front of them, and flying before them, were the four whites.
It was now a race for life. Which will be the winner?
CHAPTER XI.
MUZZLE TO MUZZLE, AND WHO WILL WIN?
It was now a very exciting, and yet, on the plains, a common scene, that the sun looked down upon.
First came the four whites, the circus-rider going along as easy and as graceful as if he was trotting around in the ring for the amusement of the spectators. The three others were urging their steeds on with heel and voice, but the wiry little animals were doing their utmost, and could not go any faster than they were going.
The little Frenchman looked very curious, as he bounced up and down on his horse, his umbrella held over the pommel just as the others held their rifles. Not being accustomed to horses, this wild ride came pretty hard on him, and he kept muttering to himself that if he was so happy as to see La Belle France once more, he would never leave her friendly shores.
After the whites came the score of Comanches, racing along in wild confusion, and now and then breaking into a loud yell which was given partly to urge their horses onward, and partly to weaken the nerves of the fugitives.