“If I had met him, and he had attempted to misbehave himself, I would have given him the go-by, and ridden, straight back to my friends.
On such a swift creature as this, he must have been well mounted to have overtaken me.
You found some difficulty—did you not?”
The eyes of the young Irishman, already showing astonishment, became expanded to increased dimensions—surprise and incredulity being equally blended in their glance.
“But,” said he, after a speechless pause, “you don’t mean to say that you could have controlled— that the mustang was not running away with you?
Am I to understand—”
“No—no—no!” hastily rejoined the fair equestrian, showing some slight embarrassment. “The mare certainly made off with me—that is, at the first—but I—I found, that is—at the last—I found I could easily pull her up.
In fact I did so: you saw it?”
“And could you have done it sooner?”
A strange thought had suggested the interrogatory; and with more than ordinary interest the questioner awaited the reply.
“Perhaps—perhaps—I might; no doubt, if I had dragged a little harder upon the rein.
But you see, sir, I like a good gallop—especially upon a prairie, where there’s no fear of running over pigs, poultry, or people.”
Maurice looked amaze.
In all his experience—even in his own native land, famed for feminine braverie—above all in the way of bold riding—he had met no match for the clever equestrian before him.
His astonishment, mixed with admiration, hindered him from making a ready rejoinder.
“To speak truth,” continued the young lady, with an air of charming simplicity, “I was not sorry at being run off with.
One sometimes gets tired of too much talk—of the kind called complimentary.
I wanted fresh air, and to be alone.
So you see, Mr Gerald, it was rather a bit of good fortune: since it saved explanations and adieus.”
“You wanted to be alone?” responded the mustanger, with a disappointed look. “I am sorry I should have made the mistake to have intruded upon you.
I assure you, Miss Poindexter, I followed, because I believed you to be in danger.”
“Most gallant of you, sir; and now that I know there was danger, I am truly grateful.
I presume I have guessed aright: you meant the Indians?”
“No; not Indians exactly—at least, it was not of them I was thinking.”
“Some other danger?
What is it, sir?
You will tell me, so that I may be more cautious for the future?”
Maurice did not make immediate answer.
A sound striking upon his ear had caused him to turn away—as if inattentive to the interrogatory.
The Creole, perceiving there was some cause for his abstraction, likewise assumed a listening attitude.
She heard a shrill scream, succeeded by another and another, close followed by a loud hammering of hoofs—the conjunction of sounds causing the still atmosphere to vibrate around her.
It was no mystery to the hunter of horses. The words that came quick from his lips—though not designed—were a direct answer to the question she had put.
“The wild stallions!” he exclaimed, in a tone that betokened alarm. “I knew they must be among those mottes; and they are!”
“Is that the danger of which you have been speaking?”
“It is.”
“What fear of them?
They are only mustangs!”
“True, and at other times there is no cause to fear them.
But just now, at this season of the year, they become as savage as tigers, and equally as vindictive.
Ah! the wild steed in his rage is an enemy more to be dreaded than wolf, panther, or bear.”
“What are we to do?” inquired the young lady, now, for the first time, giving proof that she felt fear—by riding close up to the man who had once before rescued her from a situation of peril, and gazing anxiously in his face, as she awaited the answer.
“If they should charge upon us,” answered Maurice, “there are but two ways of escape.
One, by ascending a tree, and abandoning our horses to their fury.”
“The other?” asked the Creole, with a sang froid that showed a presence of mind likely to stand the test of the most exciting crisis. “Anything but abandon our animals! ’Twould be but a shabby way of making our escape!” “We shall not have an opportunity of trying it, I perceive it is impracticable.
There’s not a tree within sight large enough to afford us security. If attacked, we have no alternative but to trust to the fleetness of our horses.
Unfortunately,” continued he, with a glance of inspection towards the spotted mare, and then at his own horse, “they’ve had too much work this morning. Both are badly blown.
That will be our greatest source of danger.
The wild steeds are sure to be fresh.”
“Do you intend us to start now?”
“Not yet.