His interest became so great that, forgetting caution, he walked beyond the shelter of the bushes.
“Great Scott—horsemen again,” he murmured. “Why, the prairie must be full o’ ’em.”
Three faint spots not far apart seemed to be moving along at an extraordinary pace.
“What in the world can that mean?” thought Larry, becoming excited again.
Retreating behind the shelter of the bushes he kept his eyes on the approaching riders as though fascinated by the spectacle. The three specks were increasing in size with remarkable rapidity.
“It looks as though somebody is getting chased,” thought Larry. “That chap in the lead certainly seems to be doing all he can to get away. Whew—what a night it has been!”
At first he was fearful that the horsemen might descend directly upon his camp. A little study, however, convinced him that unless they swerved considerably from their course the riders would pass some distance away.
There was something so mysterious, so unusual in the scene being enacted before his eyes that his mind became filled with the most dreadful misgivings. Now there came to his ears a faint sound of voices and the rapid hoof-beats of the racing horses.
“Oh, wouldn’t I give a lot if I had Bob Somers’ field-glass,” he muttered. “Gee! They’re gainin’ on that chap. In a few minutes more they’ll have him.”
Larry’s prediction was quickly verified. He saw the three horses swing together and form one confused patch of dark against the silvery sheen of the plain. Almost instantly they came to a standstill. Then, once more, he heard the sound of voices—angry voices, too.