While pursuing our way towards camp, Jerry and myself determined to visit a spring several miles to the east of our course, and then to overtake our party at a point where the trail led over a spur of the mountains, that ran far out into the plain.

We experienced no difficulty in finding the spring; and, after a short rest, filled our canteens with the cool, sparkling water, and started to intercept our friends at the place agreed upon.

Ere we were a mile upon the road.  Jerry uttered a low whistle, and said, “Look behind you, will you?”

I turned; and, to my astonishment, not more than a mile away, saw eight mounted Indians; and it was evident from the cloud of dust in which they rode, that they were coming at no very slow gait.

We were not an instant deciding that we had no wish to encounter eight mounted Comanches, well armed, upon the open plain, if it were possible to avoid them.

The ground was a dead level for miles in every direction; and, in a straight line six or seven miles away, we could see the spur of the mountains where we expected to meet our party.  If we could only reach that, we were safe.

We had more than a mile the start of our pursuers; but our horses were worn with long travel, while it was evident theirs were comparatively fresh and vigorous; our escape therefore, must be a question of speed and endurance.

“Now,” said Jerry, as we shook our reins and put spurs into the flanks of our horses, “set low, and bend in your saddle, take the motion of your horse, and let’s git.”

And “git” we did.  Our animals seemed fairly to fly as we urged them forward.  They appeared to understand every word spoken, and to be quite as anxious to escape capture as their riders.

Every ejaculation uttered, every caress bestowed, gave them fresh courage, urged them to greater exertions.  Every nerve was braced, every muscle strained to its utmost tension, while their foam-flecked sides said, as plainly as words could say it, “We are doing our level best.”

I cast a glance over my shoulder and saw that the Indians were “spread” in the pursuit, but evidently gaining on us.  I looked at Jerry and then at the goal, each moment growing nearer, and still so far away that I began to doubt the ability of our horses to continue at the tremendous pace they were going until we could reach it.

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.