and the sleighs raced
abreast of one another down the slope.

"Spread out there," cried Pasmore, "and don't bunch
together, or--"

He did not finish the sentence, for just at that moment
there came a _ping_ from the shore they had just left,
and a bullet sent up a jet of water into the air alongside
of them. There was another great rending sound from the
ice that struck terror into their hearts. Their horses
quivered with excitement as they darted forward. There
was a roar in their ears that sounded as if they were
close to a battery of artillery in action. _Ping, ping,
ping!_ and the bullets came whizzing over their heads or
skidding on the ice alongside. It was a lucky thing for
them that the Indians were too keen in the pursuit to
take proper aim. Separating, so as to minimise the danger,
each team dashed forward on its own account.

"Stay with it, broncho! Stick to it, my son!" yelled
Pasmore.

In the pauses of the thundering and rending there cut
clearly into the now mild air the clattering of the
horses' hoofs, the hum of the steel-shod runners, and
the _ping, ping_ of the rifles. It was a race for life
with a vengeance, with death ahead and alongside, and
with death at their heels. A gap in the ice, or a stumble,
and it would surely be all up with them.

"Go it, my game little broncho!" and with rein and voice
Pasmore urged the brave "steed onwards.

"Hello! there goes the breed's pony!" cried Pasmore.

A bullet had struck Bastien's horse behind the ear and
brought it down all of a heap upon the ice. There was
an ear-splitting crack just at that moment which added
to the terror of the situation. But the rancher pulled
his horse up by a supreme effort, and Bastien, deserting
his sleigh, leapt in beside him. Then on again.

Pasmore's pony was now somewhat behind the others, when
suddenly there was a mighty roar, and a great crevasse
opened up in front of them. It took all the strength that
Pasmore possessed to pull up on the brink.

"We must get out and jump over this somehow," Pasmore
cried to Dorothy. "It's neck or nothing."

So they sprang out of the sleigh, unhitched the plucky
pony, and prepared to cross the deadly-looking fissure.

CHAPTER XIX

CAPTURED BY POUNDMAKER

The first thing that Pasmore did was to urge the pony to
leap the crevasse on its own account; after a very little
coaxing the intelligent animal gathered itself together,
and jumped clear of certain death. It then