On, on, still on; the horse actually seemed to gain strength as he proceeded, and, by fearful glances ahead, the young Ohioan saw that he was nearing the lost herd.
“I can’t hold out much longer!” he gasped between the clenched teeth, “but I dare not release my hold. In a moment I would be trampled to death by his hoofs, and father would never see his runaway boy again.”
Strangely Tecumseh would turn his head whenever a word fell from rider’s lips; the horse seemed to think the voice that of his master; but the desire to see his free comrades overruled the obedience he had loved in days gone by, and kept the demon in his eyes.
All at once the boy saw the wild herd execute a sudden halt, but the next moment they wheeled to the right, and dashed northward as swiftly as before.
The halt enabled Tecumseh to approach very near the lost horses, and, as he “cut corners” at break-neck speed, his rider saw the cause of the horses’ sudden change of route.
A long line of dark forms appeared between him and the gray horizon.
They were Indians, scarce a mile away.
How Charley Shafer’s heart sprung into his throat at the sight.
If they could but see him!
He released one hand from Tecumseh’s mane, waved his handkerchief above his head, wildly and with frantic gestures. But he found that he occupied an insecure seat, and was soon forced to clasp the mane again.