A Waif of the Mountains by Edward Sylvester Ellis

Author:Edward Sylvester Ellis [Ellis, Edward Sylvester]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

167

CHAPTER XVII

THE PURSUERS

The parson expressed his disappointment in vigorous language, when, instead of the horses, the hybrids proved to be the only animals near them.

“I am afraid this proves one thing,” he said.

“What is that?”

“I have had a dread all along that the Indians would run off the horses, but it seems to me that if they had done so, they would have taken the mules.”

“It strikes me as more likely that the leftenant took the horses, so as to prevent our follering him and the gal.”

“That sounds reasonable,” said the parson thoughtfully; “the plan is so simple that it must have occurred to him. The mules are too slow to be of any use to us, and it may be as well that we shall have to go afoot.”

“How do you figure that out?”

“They will conclude that, if we haven’t any horses, we won’t follow them; they will, therefore, take their time and travel so slow, that we’ll have the chance to swoop down on them when they are not expecting it.”

168

“I s’pose there’s what you call philosophy in that, but it doesn’t hit me very favorable. We’ll see what the cap thinks––helloa!”

Clearly and distinctly through the still air came the signal by which Captain Dawson was to announce his discovery of the animals. The call scattered all thoughts of making the journey on foot, and, wheeling about, the two started off at a rapid pace to join their friend. At the same moment the call sounded again, and they answered it to let it be known they understood the situation. In a brief time they came upon Captain Dawson impatiently awaiting them. There was no need for him to tell them he had been successful in his search, for he was standing beside the three horses, which were quickly saddled and bridled. A minute later the men vaulted upon their backs and the captain said crisply:

“Now we are off!”

Each seemed to be inspired by the spirit of adventure. They sat erect in the saddles, drew in a deep inhalation of the keen night air, and moved off with their horses on a brisk walk, which almost immediately became a canter. For a mile, the trail through Dead Man’s Gulch was nearly as hard and even as a country highway. The width of the cañon varied from a few rods to a quarter of a mile, with the mountain ridges on either hand towering far up into cloudland, the tallest 169 peaks crowned with snow which the sun never dissolved.

The tiny stream wound like a silvery serpent through the stretch of green, succulent grass, narrowing gorge and obtruding rock and boulder. Now and then the path led across the water, which was so shallow that it only plashed about the fetlocks of the horses. Captain Dawson, in his impetuosity, kept a few paces in front of the other two, as if he were the leader. When the space increased too much he reined up his animal and waited until his friends joined him.

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