ter
was secured.

In his affright he did not dare glance to the left even, and held his
breath in thrilling expectancy, certain that with every leap he took he
would be greeted by a volley, or that the Sioux would throw themselves
across his track to shut off all chance of escape.

That they did not do so was not only unaccountable to him, but gave him
the hope that possibly he might still elude them. Bending his head, he
ran with might and main. The distance was not great, but it seemed
tenfold greater than it was, and a slip of the foot, which came near
bringing him to his knees, filled his heart with despair and made him
certain that he would soon join Tim Brophy.

He heard his pursuers at his heels. Despite his own fleetness, they were
outspeeding him. Nothing could save him from being overtaken before
reaching the ridge.

Suddenly a peculiarity in the sound made by those at his rear caused him
abruptly to halt and look around.

Then, to his unbounded delight and amazement, he recognized his own
pony, Jack, striving hard to keep him company.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE PRAIRIE DUEL.

Warren Starr could have hugged his pony in his transport of delight.
Until a moment before he was sure several of the Sioux were upon him;
when, wheeling about, he was confronted by Jack, whom he had been
desirous of meeting above every other person or animal in the world.

The action of the horse he understood. On the sudden flight of his
master he had attempted to follow him among the rocks and trees of the
ridge; the Indians, in the flurry of the occasion, paying no attention
to him. Failing, he was making his way back to the open prairie, when
the sight of his master sent him galloping after him; Warren being too
panic-stricken to suspect the truth until he was well-nigh run down by
the faithful animal.

"Heaven bless you, Jack!" he exclaimed, with glowing face and joyous
heart; "you are in the nick of time."

Saddle and trappings were unharmed, though the tapering limbs of the
creature had been scratched and cut by his attempt to follow his master.
The youth was in the saddle in a twinkling, and, but for the sad
situation of Tim Brophy, he would have uttered a shout of triumph.

For in truth he felt safe, even though the hostiles were dangerously
near. Remembering this, he rode farther out from the ridge, and whooped
and swung his arms at the Indian ponies, who dashed still farther out on
the plain.

It was inevita