Mile after mile went by, and the excitement of it grew to be something terrible.
"The Apaches can't be far ahead of 'em now, Murray."
"Hark! Hear that?"
"A rifle shot—a whoop!"
"They are pulling up."
"They'd better. I'm afraid we're too late, Murray."
"On, on, Steve! Maybe there's time yet."
Captain Skinner had already seen and heard enough to make him halt his men, and he was gathering them rapidly into close order, when a long, ringing shout behind him drew his anxious eyes from the dangerous-looking "signs" now gathering in his front.
Signs? Yes, danger signs. Wild, dark, painted horsemen riding hither and thither and nearer and nearer, growing more and more numerous every moment. Those were the signs that Many Bears and his warriors meant to stand between any approaching enemy and the camp of their squaws and children. That was a quite a distance yet, but the Apaches did not mean to let any peril come very near it.
The shout was from Murray.