CHAPTER III.

A WILD RACE.

Meanwhile, where was the missing maiden, Clara Calhoun? Let us glance back and learn.

The information gleaned by Major Calhoun from the emigrants was correct, so far as it went. Clara had been riding, as usual, and when she had learned the spot chosen for the encampment, which she could already locate by the neighboring grove of trees, she resolved to enjoy a little gallop ere night fell, and by this means she would also avoid much of the disagreeable noise and confusion attendant upon halting.

So she bore abruptly to the right, and with loosened rein dashed merrily away, the proud mustang tossing his head gladly, at this unusual relaxation. But Clara’s little ride was destined to be carried out upon a scale of far greater importance than she had anticipated, and ere it was ended, she was fated to undergo a season of peculiar trial.

From before her horse’s feet there sprung up a rabbit—one of that overgrown breed popularly known as “jack-rabbits,” which, if not often palmed off on greenhorns as full grown mules, as Westerners frequently assert, are sufficiently large to astonish those used only to the more diminutive species common to “the States”—and dashed away over the short grass, clearing fully half a score yards at each jump.

Clara’s eyes sparkled, and bending forward she spoke to her horse in a low tone, gently touching his flanks with her switch. The game creature bounded forward with a wild snort, while the maiden laughed long and loudly at this unique race.

The jack-rabbit, like his more diminutive brother of the States, invariably resorts to one ruse, in order to escape an enemy. It will flee for a considerable distance in a direct line, but then will “double,” and return by a _detour_ to near the starting-point.

And this one was not an exception to the general rule. For fully a mile it leaped ahead, with astonishing speed, leaving Clara far behind, and then doubled.

But Clara did not detect this last move, and urged her horse on at full speed. Then, however, having lost sight of the animal, she drew rein and turned as if to retrace her steps.

She glanced around, but the point toward which she believed was the camping-ground was bare and like that upon either hand. Not a tree was to be seen. The plain was nearly level, but she was now in a slight depression, that was from right to left, like the trough between two huge waves.

“Come,” she said, us she twitched the reins and turned the mustang’s head toward the crest, “we must hurry, or we’ll be too late for supper. It’s almost sundown.”

But then, as she paused upon the ridge, a wild cry broke from her lips. A startling sight met her gaze.

Before her, at not more than one-half mile distance, were a number of horsemen, coming toward her at full speed. And even her untrained eyes could tell that they were Indians; their trappings and peculiar manner of riding, outlined upon the red sky beyond, as they crossed a slight swell, told her that.

“My God! I am lost!” gasped Clara, for she believed that these forms were directly between her and her friends, unknowing how the chase after the rabbit had caused her to deviate from a true line.

But then as a shrill cry came to her ears, borne over the intervening space by the light breeze, she wrenched her horse’s head around and dashed down the slope at a break-neck pace. Only one thought possessed her now: to increase the distance between her and these dusky fiends, of whose daring she had heard so many frightful incidents.

And now the race was begun in sober earnest. It was no longer one of mere sport; freedom, perhaps even life depended upon her retaining the vantage-ground thus fortunately gained.

The truth may be told in a few words. These savages were but part of the band that had pursued old Tom Maxwell, who, after discovering the riderless horse, had suspected the ruse, and were searching for the emigrant train. They had caught sight of Clara, just after she set off in pursuit of the rabbit, and a band of them immediately spurred forth to effect her capture.

There was one circumstance in Clara’s favor, though she did not think of it then. The sun had already sunk behind the western horizon, and in a short time more, the shades of night would hide her from her enemies, provided she could elude their clutches for so long.

But then she knew not whither she was going. Ignorant of what lay before her, in a strange and wild region, what hope was there for her?

Even supposing she should escape these enemies, how could she subsist in that wide prairie, destitute of food, or even the means of procuring any? She would only starve to death, die by slow degrees!

And thus she sped on, carefully assisting her noble horse, as he labored on. Fortunate indeed it was for her that he was a mustang, prairie born and bred; tough and hardy, though not remarkably fleet at a short stretch.

But one of this race will easily tire out and even kill one of the larger breed from the States, and yet, after a short rest and mouthful of short grass, be as well and fresh as ever. For hours they can be urged on at full speed, without giving way beneath the strain.

And so, though beneath the saddle well-nigh that entire day, Clara’s horse sped on without flinching, and the maiden saw with joy that she was nearly, if not quite, maintaining her vantage ground.

But still, of what avail? How would it all end? She was fleeing further with each moment, from her friends, and in trying to avoid one death, seemed but rushing upon another, scarcely less terrible.

For fully an hour the race swept on, without any great change in the relative positions. The shades of night were now upon the prairie, and the moon not yet having risen, all around was dark and gloomy.

Clara could see that she was nearing high ground, but as she looked to see if she could not skirt it, the dim outlines of a long range met her eye, extending for miles upon either hand. Though fearful of losing ground, there was nothing for it but to dare the steep ascent.

In a few minutes more, the fugitive was at the base of a rugged hill, and then as the shrill yells of exultation came up from the pursuers behind her, Clara urged her laboring horse up the steep ascent.

It was hard work for the already overtasked animal, but it nobly responded to the call, and although more than once stumbling, it struggled on until the extreme crest was gained. But then as it dashed down the steep declivity, the mustang’s hoof rested upon a loose stone, and it pitched forward, head-first, flinging its rider violently to the ground. Then arising, it still kept on, snorting wildly.

Clara felt a shock, then that she was falling—falling down what seemed an interminable depth, and then, with a frightful shock her downward course seemed to be checked. This; and then followed a blank.

A blank, so far as any definite sensation was concerned, and yet not entirely one, either. For it seemed—faint and indistinct, as in a dream—as though she was shortly afterward surrounded by phantom figures, and a far-away hum as of human voices in consultation, was also in the vision, if vision it was.

The figures seemed to raise her from the ground and then convey her gently through the air for what seemed an almost interminable length of time. Then she was placed upon the cool ground beside a murmuring rivulet, when cool water was sprinkled over her face, while warm, soft hands chafed her own.

Then with a feeble cry she started up and gazed wildly around her. The phantom forms were now more substantial—the voices sounded more clearly upon her ear, and she knew that the visionary dream had been a reality.

Then she uttered a feeble cry and sunk back, with a convulsive shudder. Before her she beheld a hideous face, dusky, it seemed, with nodding plumes surmounting it, that she knew could only belong to an Indian!

She felt that she was lost—that her pursuers had overtaken her, and that now she was helpless in the power of the merciless fiends!