Every minute seemed an age.
Jerry's face was a study, as, with compressed lips, and eyes that
appeared to fairly flash fire, he bent so low in his saddle as to almost
touch his horse's mane. On, on, we sped! Not a word was spoken--not a
sound could be heard, save the dull, heavy thud of our horses' feet upon
the soft turf beneath us.
Once I fancied I felt my horse waver, as though about to fall; but I
spoke sharply to him, and he straightened out, just as a bullet whistled
by our heads.
"That's a Comanche sign; you can always tell them devils," muttered
Jerry, between his teeth.
A mile farther, and we are safe. Can we make it? Why don't our men see
us, and hasten to the rescue?
Another look behind. The Indians were still gaining on us, and I fancied
I could hear the breath of their unshod horses, as they thundered after
us; but it was only the distressed breathing of our own noble animals,
warning us that their strength was almost gone.
Will our friends ever see us? Can we hold out five minutes longer? I hear
Jerry mutter something between his closed teeth; and, the next moment,
saw a dozen men dash out from behind the rocks.
"We are saved! we are saved!" is my cry.
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