There was something in Chauncy’s breast that made him think that, after all, they would be saved.
As the Comanches dashed forward, Ralph happened to glance toward the grove of trees which was on the left of the whites, and to his intense joy, saw a large band of horsemen coming out of them, at a full, sweeping gallop.
A yell of satisfaction broke from his lips at this sight, and in among the Comanches he went, his huge fists lunging out right and left, and knocking several of the painted devils from their horses. At first the Indians knew not what to make of this. They had expected to do the attacking part, not their enemies. Their sharp ears soon heard the noise made by the approaching horsemen, and turning, they rode off, helter-skelter, with cries of surprise and rage.
It was very mortifying to say the least; this being defeated just when the fortune of war seemed about to make them victorious. The horsemen came up to the four whites, but only two stopped. These were Don Carlos and his daughter. The rest swept on after the Indians, and gained upon them, too.
The tables were completely changed now. The Indians were the fugitives, and whites the pursuers.
“Ye just come up in good time, Don Carlos. In five minits we’d ’a’ been rubbed out,” said the guide.
“Why, how are you, old friend? Give us your hand. How have you been making it lately, Ralph?” said the Don.
“Oh, pretty well. How’s that, Don?” said Ralph, pointing his thumb over his right shoulder. The Don turned and saw that the young hunter had Donna Iola in his arms.
“It seems to have gone too far to be stopped, even did I wish it. Who is the young fellow, Ralph?” said the young girl’s father.
“He’s the son o’ an old friend an’ comrade o’ mine. We fit in the Mexican war together. He’s a rich gentleman, an’ lives out East. His name is Major Branrare,” said Ralph.