Indian of their party, and then another, the
brave fellows sitting motionless in their saddles like groups cut in
bronze, waiting for their chief to join them, even though the great body
of enemies was tearing down towards them over the plain. Then as the
Beaver reached them, a guttural cry of satisfaction left their lips, and
they galloped on behind their leader without so much as giving a look at
the dismounted Indians who still came running on.

A tremendous race! Well it was that the little horses had been well fed
and also well-rested for some time past, or they would never have been
able to keep on at such a headlong speed, tearing up the earth at every
bound, and spurning it behind them as they snorted and shook their great
straggling manes, determined apparently to win in this race for life or
death, and save their riders from the peril in which they were placed.

Another Indian of their scouts reached, and their party increased to
five, while two more were ahead waiting patiently for them to come.

The wind whistled by their ears; the ponies seemed to have become part
of them, and every nerve was now strained to the utmost; but Bart began
to despair, the Apaches were getting to be so near. They were
well-mounted, too, and it was such a distance yet before the gateway
could be reached, where the first prospect of a few friendly shots could
be expected to help them to escape from a horrible death. Mercy, Bart
knew, there would certainly be none, and in spite of all their efforts,
it seemed as if they must lose the race.

How far away the next sentry seemed! Try how they would, he seemed to
be no nearer, and in very few minutes more Bart knew that the Indians
would be right upon them.

Involuntarily he cocked his rifle and threw it to the left as if getting
ready to fire, but the Beaver uttered an angry cry.

"No, no; ride, ride," he said; and Bart felt that he was right, for to
fire at that vast body would have been madness. What good would it do
him to bring down one or even a dozen among the hundreds coming on, all
thirsting for their blood?

In response Bart gripped his pony more tightly, rising slightly in the
stirrups, and the next moment they were passing their scout like a
flash, and he had wheeled his pony and was after them.

One more scout to reach, and then a race of a few hundred yards, and
rifles would begin to play upon their pursuers; but would they ever
reach that next scout?

It