vent its interference with his running. The tousled head was pushed forward, and at intervals the redskin looked back. The glare of his black eyes through the meshes of flying hair suggested an owl peering from behind a thicket.
Those backward glances were only for an instant but were continually repeated. The swarthy face showed the terror of the fugitive, who must have wondered why the fatal shot was delayed. Perhaps he thought his pursuer meant to make him prisoner—a fate dreaded as much as death itself.
The Indian ceased his side leaps and ducking, and gave the last ounce of his strength to flight. He was running extraordinarily fast, but you do not need to be told that he steadily lost ground before the rushing pony. It was impossible for the man to get away by means of direct flight.
Meanwhile, queer thoughts must have bothered Dick. He had brought his new master within easy striking distance of his enemy and he did nothing. Why did he not shoot and close the incident? Why did he wait till the brief space was lessened still more?
The watchful Alden suddenly saw the right
