Almost unhorsed by the unexpected movement, the young white buffalo-hunter raised himself, and uttered an ejaculation of joy commingled with anxious fear.
The lost band, in scaling a prairie hillock, had suddenly come upon a Pawnee village, and a band of Indians!
The latter were near, while far away he saw the former, resting idly by a shining stream, which he felt must be the Loup fork of the Platte.
The Pawnee horsemen, perhaps thirty in number, at once drove their spurs into the rowels of the fresh animals, with a yell which the lost steeds greeted with neighs of astonishment.
Charley saw lassoes made ready as the Pawnees rushed forward, and he saw, too, with infinite joy, that they were gaining on him, at no insignificant rate.
“God help them catch me!” he cried, for captivity was preferable to the doom which had stared him in the face so long.
The singular turn which affairs had taken threw new strength into his limbs; he reached forward, and griped the bridle which lay on Tecumseh’s neck. Then, sitting bolt upright in his saddle, he “see-sawed” on the Mexican bit with all his might.
His action bothered the horses that pressed in his rear, for Tecumseh could not push forward with the alacrity he had known, and the others crowded against him, much to his disquietude.
They tried to pull the brave boy from the saddle; they caught his garments with their teeth, and lacerated his limbs with their frantic exertions.
But, finding that Tecumseh’s rider was delaying his progress, they suddenly divided ranks, and, without mercy, left the iron-gray in the rear.