LITMIR.BIZ

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comprehending it, she knew there must be some great danger. When such a man showed sign of fear, it could not be otherwise. She had a secret happiness in thinking: that a portion of this fear was for her own safety.

      “I think we may venture now;” said her companion, after a short period spent in listening; “they appear to have passed the opening by which we must make our retreat. Look well to your riding, I entreat you! Keep a firm seat in the saddle, and a sure hold of the rein. Gallop by my side, where the ground will admit of it; but in no case let more than the length of my horse’s tail be between us. I must perforce go ahead to guide the way. Ha! they are coming direct for the glade. They’re already close to its edge. Our time is up!”

      The profound stillness that but a short while before pervaded the prairie, no longer reigned over it. In its stead had arisen a fracas that resembled the outpouring of some overcrowded asylum; for in the shrill neighing of the steeds might have been fancied the screams of maniacs—only ten times more vociferous. They were mingled with a thunder-like hammering of hoofs—a swishing and crashing of branches—savage snorts, accompanied by the sharp snapping of teeth—the dull “thud” of heels coming in contact with ribs and rounded hips—squealing that betokened spite or pain—all forming a combination of sounds that jarred harshly upon the ear, and caused the earth to quake, as if oscillating upon its orbit!

      It told of a terrible conflict carried on by the wild stallions; who, still unseen, were fighting indiscriminately among themselves, as they held their way among the mottes.

      Not much longer unseen. As Maurice gave the signal to start, the speckled crowd showed itself in an opening between two copses. In a moment more it filled the gangway-like gap, and commenced disgorging into the glade, with the impetus of an avalanche!

      It was composed of living forms—the most beautiful known in nature: for in this man must give way to the horse. Not the unsexed horse of civilisation, with hunched shoulders, bandied limbs, and bowed frontlet—scarce one in a thousand of true equine shape—and this, still further, mutilated by the shears of the coper and gentleman jockey—but the wild steed of the savannas, foaled upon the green grass, his form left free to develop as the flowers that shed their fragrance around him.

      Eye never beheld a more splendid sight than a cavallada of wild stallions, prancing upon a prairie; especially at that season when, stirred by strong passions, they seek to destroy one another. The spectacle is more than splendid—it is fearful—too fearful to be enjoyed by man, much less by timid woman. Still more when the spectator views it from an exposed position, liable to become the object of their attack.

      In such situation were the riders of the blood bay and spotted mustang. The former knew it by past experience—the latter could not fail to perceive it by the evidence before her.

      “This way!” cried Maurice, lancing his horse’s flanks with the spur, and bending so as to oblique to the rear of the cavallada.

      “By heaven—they’ve discovered us! On—on! Miss Poindexter! Remember you are riding for your life!”

      The stimulus of speech was not needed. The behaviour of the stallions was of itself sufficient to show, that speed alone could save the spotted mustang and its rider.

      On coming out into the open ground, and getting sight of the ridden horses, they had suddenly desisted from their internecine strife; and, as if acting under the orders of some skilled leader, come to a halt. In line, too, like cavalry checked up in the middle of a charge!

      For a time their mutual hostility seemed to be laid aside—as if they felt called upon to attack a common enemy, or resist some common danger!

      The pause may have proceeded from surprise; but, whether or no, it was favourable to the fugitives. During the twenty seconds it continued, the latter had made good use of their time, and accomplished the circuit required to put them on the path of safety.

      Only on the path, however. Their escape was still problematical: for the steeds, perceiving their intention, wheeled suddenly into the line of pursuit, and went galloping after, with snorts and screams that betrayed a spiteful determination to overtake them.

      From that moment it became a straight unchanging chase across country—a trial of speed between the horses without riders, and the horses that were ridden.

      At intervals did Maurice carry his chin to his shoulder; and though still preserving the distance gained at the start, his look was not the less one of apprehension.

      Alone he would have laughed to scorn his pursuers. He knew that the blood-bay—himself a prairie steed—could surpass any competitor of his race. But the mare was delaying him. She was galloping slower than he had ever seen her—as if unwilling, or not coveting escape—like a horse with his head turned away from home!

      “What can it mean?” muttered the mustanger, as he checked his pace, to accommodate it to that of his companion. “If there should be any baulk at the crossing, we’re lost! A score of seconds will make the difference.”

      “We keep our distance, don’t we?” inquired his fellow-fugitive, noticing his troubled look.

      “So far, yes. Unfortunately there’s an obstruction ahead. It remains to be seen how we shall get over it. I know you are a clever rider, and can take a long leap. But your mount? I’m not so sure of the mare. You know her better than I. Do you think she can carry you over—”

      “Over what, sir?”

      “You’ll see in a second. We should be near the place now.”

      The conversation thus carried on was between two individuals riding side by side, and going at a gallop of nearly a mile to the minute!

      As the guide had predicted, they soon came within sight of the obstruction; which proved to be an arroyo—a yawning fissure in the plain full fifteen feet in width, as many in depth, and trending on each side to the verge of vision.

      To turn aside, either to the right or left, would be to give the pursuers the advantage of the diagonal; which the fugitives could no longer afford.

      The chasm must be crossed, or the stallions would overtake them.

      It could only be crossed by a leap—fifteen feet at the least. Maurice knew that his own horse could go over it—he had done it before. But the mare?

      “Do you think she can do it?” he eagerly asked, as, in slackened pace, they approached the edge of the barranca.

      “I am sure she can,” was the confident reply.

      “But are you sure you can sit her over it?”

      “Ha! ha! ha!” scornfully laughed the Creole. “What a question for an Irishman to ask! I’m sure, sir, one of your own countrywomen would be offended at your speech. Even I, a native of swampy Louisiana, don’t regard it as at all gallant. Sit her over it! Sit her anywhere she can carry me.”

      “But, Miss Poindexter,” stammered the guide, still doubting the powers of the spotted mustang, “suppose she cannot? If you have any doubts, had you not better abandon her? I know that my horse can bear us both to the other side, and with safety. If the mustang be left behind, in all likelihood we shall escape further pursuit. The wild steeds—”

      “Leave Luna behind! Leave her to be trampled to death, or torn to pieces—as you say she would! No—no, Mr Gerald. I prize the spotted mare too much for that. She goes with me: over the chasm, if we can. If not, we both break our necks at the bottom. Come, my pretty pet! This is he who chased, captured, and conquered you. Show him you’re not yet so subdued, but that you can escape, when close pressed, from the toils of either friend or enemy. Show him one of those leaps, of which you’ve done a dozen within the week. Now for a flight in the air!”

      Without even waiting for the stimulus of example, the courageous Creole rode recklessly at the arroyo; and cleared it by one of those leaps of which she had “done a dozen within the week.”

      There were three thoughts in the mind of the mustanger—rather might they be called emotions—as he sate watching that

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