The next moment the youths were well armed, and Tecumseh stood before the cabin equipped for a battle with his wild brethren.
“They’re coming up the river,” said the trapper as he drew the boys to a place behind the saddle. “I believe it’s the lost band.”
“The lost band?”
“Yes; the wild horses don’t belong to this latitude,” he answered; “but, somehow or other, a gang hev been cavorting around here for several months, and I b’lieve thet they’re actually lost. I’ve tried to crease a black stallion among ’em, fur several weeks; but they won’t let me get within range. Now, p’raps—dash me! I’ll get Blackey this time.”
A word drove Tecumseh into the water, and amid the thundering of the wild cavalcade, the bank was gained.
“Something is chasing ’em!” said Frontier Shack, listening to the noise of the unshod hoofs which momentarily grew louder. “Mebbe it’s Pawnees, and they’ll cheat us out of a horse if they can.”
The thunder of the curbless steeds seemed to shake the ground beneath Tecumseh’s feet, and it was with difficulty that Shackelford could restrain his horse from rushing forward. With arched neck, flashing eyes, and distended nostrils the iron-gray stood on the river’s bank, trembling from head to fetlocks with intense excitement.
Nearer and nearer, though still unseen, came the wild army, and it was evident that they would pass the base of the rise that hid them from the trio’s vision.
“Quiet, Tecumseh!” hoarsely commanded Frontier Shack.
“What’s got into ye to-day? Ye’ve heard wild horses afore. I creased ye once, and now, mebbe, yer thinking of old times. Be still! I say! Now they’re passing the round hill,” he said, addressing the boys, and the next moment, cocking the rifle he carried, the trapper ordered his steed forward.