he foremost horses were upon
him and their riders' hands were outstretched to tear him from his
saddle, the mustang made a sudden swerve and what seemed to be a slip.

But it did not go down, recovering itself in an instant, but only to
drop from a furious gallop into a laboured canter which became directly
after a painful walk, while Chris felt as if he had received a blow
which had stupefied him, deadening his hearing so that he only heard the
clatter of horses' hoofs and the yelling of the riders as if from a
distance, growing fainter and fainter till they died away.

"What's the matter? Am I hurt?" panted the boy, as, passing the rein
over his wrist, he clapped his hands to his temples, sitting upright and
swaying with his pony's movements the while.

The only answer was the hoarse panting of the pony as, evidently
striving hard, it kept on at the walk, full of effort, and Chris began
to grasp the fact that in the swerve made by the plucky little steed the
Indians had swept by at full gallop, while, unnoticed in the darkness,
the pony had turned up the side gorge which his master had passed in
coming and passed again upon his return, being fast asleep, when the
mustang had stopped to sniff and hesitate, and finally chosen the way
which led them right into the Indians' camp.

"Why, they've missed us," exclaimed Chris, whose heart began now to beat
wildly in the fresh excitement of the moment. For his head was still
confused, and he was trying hard to make out how it was that the Indians
had managed to pass him earlier in the evening, even now being too much
puzzled to make out the mistake that had occurred.

For in the great darkness of the narrow gorge they were ascending the
boy's brain seemed to participate. He could not grasp that by this
narrow descent the Indians had gained the gulch directly after he had
passed to take up his position as scout. In short, all he had room for
in his head then was the one great thought, that for the present, thanks
to the pony, he had escaped, and for the minor piece of easily-grasped
knowledge that the panting beast was toiling--literally climbing up a
very steep and narrow rift in the side of the cliff; where he was going
and what was to be the end, he could not tell.

After a time the efforts of the pony grew less; it ceased to drag itself
up as if forcing its hoofs into the crevices of the rock to climb foot
by foot. The way was still steep, and the darkness so thic