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The Great Cattle Trail, a novel by Edward Sylvester Ellis |
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Chapter 13. A Dead Race |
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_ CHAPTER XIII. A DEAD RACE Avon Burnet was thunderstruck. When he supposed he was several miles from the cabin of his uncle, he found himself directly in front of it, and the Indian horse, upon which he relied to take him to the camp of the cattlemen, had brought him to what might be called the mouth of the lion's den. Not only had the precious minutes been thrown away, but his peril was of the most desperate nature. Hardly had the pony halted, when a couple of figures loomed to view in the darkness on the left, and one of them called to him in Comanche. This told the youth that his identity was unsuspected by the red men, whose view was too indistinct to distinguish him from one of their own number. But they were coming toward him, and his broad sombrero must reveal the truth the next instant. Not a second was to be lost. They were almost upon him, when he wheeled and urged his mustang to a dead run, throwing himself forward at the same moment, in the usual way, to avoid the bullets that would be whistling about him before he could pass beyond reach. But the steed got the mischief in him at this moment. He must have understood the treachery demanded of him, for instead of dashing off, as was expected, he spitefully flung his head from side to side and reared, with his fore-legs high from the ground. Had Avon been on the open prairie, with time at his command, he would have conquered the beast, as he had done many a time with others, but he could not do so now. There was not the twinkling of an eye at his disposal. The mustang was still rearing and pawing the air, when Avon whisked over his shoulder, like a skilled equestrian, landing nimbly on his feet, and breaking into a dead run toward the cattle camp five miles away. His action, as well as that of his horse, made known the astonishing truth to the approaching Comanches. Several warning whoops broke the stillness, and it seemed to the fugitive that half the Indians were in pursuit of him. He glanced back and was not a little surprised to observe that all were on foot. The pony which had just been freed must have concluded to enjoy his liberty while the chance was his, for, instead of going to his master, he galloped whinnying in another direction. But all of these men had mustangs, which, as has been said, were among the finest of their species, and they were likely to take part in the singular contest. If the chase should retain its present character the young man had hope, for he was one of the fleetest of Texans, who had never met his superior among the veterans of the plains. The Comanches are also wonderfully active on foot, and it remained to be decided whether they could overtake him in a fair contest. Avon Burnet ran as never before. He was speeding now for his own life as well as for that of his friends, for they were in as urgent need of help as ever. He knew his face was toward camp, he remembered the nature of the ground, and had no fear, therefore, of stumbling into any pitfalls. Accustomed as the Comanches were to running, they must have been surprised at the burst of speed shown by the young man, who seemed to be going over the plain like the wind. As he ran Avon cast furtive glances over his shoulder, and his heart tingled when he saw that he was steadily drawing away from the four figures which seemed to have sprung from the ground itself. "Keep it up, boys," he muttered, "and see where you land. If you can down me in _this style_, you are welcome." But it was not to be expected that the pursuers would content themselves while the swift-footed youth left them out of sight. The moment they saw that such an issue was likely, they would resort to their rifles, and there could be no question of their skill with those weapons, which they had been accustomed to use from the hour they were strong enough to hold one of them. There must have been some urgent wish on the part of the red men to capture the youth, else they would have appealed to their guns at first. The rearing mustang served as a partial shield to the fugitive, until he was fairly under way and had secured a start of several rods, in fact being almost invisible in the gloom at the moment the race fairly opened. The third glance over his shoulder showed him only two of the Comanches in sight, and hardly half a minute elapsed, when, on looking back again, only one was visible. But the fact became speedily apparent that this particular red man was as fleet as himself. He must have been the champion of his tribe, since he parted company with his companions so speedily. "I don't know whether I can shake you off or not," thought the fugitive, "but it's a mighty sight better to be chased by a single enemy than by several." The youth determined upon a piece of strategy, should it prove possible. He meant to keep up the flight, without escaping his pursuer, until he was drawn so far away from the rest that he could receive no help from them. This, at the same time, would encourage the miscreant in the belief that he would soon overhaul and make him prisoner. The first part of the scheme was comparatively simple. It was easier to allow the scamp to gain upon him than it was to outrun him; it was somewhat more difficult to hold the rates of speed relatively equal, while it looked extremely doubtful whether, when the moment should arrive, he could leave him behind. In support of this view, Avon did not fail to remember that he had put forth his utmost exertion from the first, and still was unable to shake off his enemy, who clung as persistently to him as does the wolf to the wounded bison. What he feared, too, as much as anything else, was that the other Comanches, who had withdrawn from the race, would hasten to the vicinity of the cabin, and, mounting their mustangs, take part in the struggle. If a horseman should get but a single glimpse of him, it would not take him long to run the fugitive down. It was this dread which caused him to swerve gradually to the left, though he kept such careful note of the change that there was no danger of his going astray as before. None of the pursuers, from the moment of starting, gave vent to any outcry, as they are generally supposed to do under similar circumstances. Such a proceeding would have been as great a draught upon his strength as outright laughter, and the American Indian is too wise not to husband every resource. It required little cessation of effort to permit the Comanche to come up with him at an alarming rate. A few minutes would have allowed the pursuer to overhaul the fugitive. Only a few minutes had passed since the furious start, and Avon felt that the time had come to consider himself as dealing only with this single redskin. Still bearing to the left he put forth all his energies, resolved to run away from him, if the achievement was within the range of possibility. It was not. Try as desperately as he might, the Comanche could not be shaken off. An encounter being inevitable, Avon had to decide upon the manner in which it should take place. Inasmuch as the warrior must have felt certain of coming up with him, he was not likely to appeal to his rifle, or that would have been his first act when the contest opened. He would continue to run until near enough either to seize the youth or to use his weapon against him. Avon concluded that the only course which offered hope was to allow the warrior to approach slightly closer, and then to wheel and let him have several chambers from his Winchester. He would have to act quickly, but he had already proven himself capable of that, and it might be that the Comanche would be looking for something of the kind, and was supple enough to secure the drop on him. His people were accustomed to border warfare and had graduated in all the subtlety of the fearful business. Young Burnet had fixed his course of action in his mind when, to his consternation, he heard the sounds of approaching hoofs over the prairie! _ |
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