At length Chauncy told the Donna that she must leave him at once if she hoped to ever escape. If the Indians got close up and she tried to make off on the bay steed, they would fire, not at her but the horse, and would in all probability wound or kill him. In either case the Donna would be captured and then there would be no chance for them, for none could know that they were prisoners in the Indian village.
The Donna could not but obey the words of the young man. A word from Chauncy sent the bay horse forward with a dash. Off he went like an arrow shot from the bow. The Donna as she left Chauncy turned in the saddle and cast a glance of sorrow and something else at the young man.
Even in this critical moment, Chauncy felt a thrill of joy run through his form, for by that look he realized that he was beloved by the beautiful young Donna.
Such a world of feeling as there was in those large black eyes.
Love and sorrow mingled with reproach. The former because she had to leave him, and the latter because he had sent her from him. Chauncy knew that it was for the best, and but for this he would have recalled the Donna to his side.
It pained him greatly to be separated from the young girl in this manner, and naturally he felt kind of mad at those who had been the cause of it.
The Indians gave vent to a yell of rage when they saw the noble bay steed dart off with his light but unwilling burden.
They urged their horses on to as fast a speed as they could, but it was no use. The Donna went five yards to their three and easily distanced them.
Chauncy took a last look at the fast receding form of the Donna and then turned his attention to the mustang.
He saw a grove of trees not far to the south-west, and heading his horse toward these he rode forward.