The pause may have proceeded from surprise; but, whether or no, it was favourable to the fugitives.
During the twenty seconds it continued, the latter had made good use of their time, and accomplished the circuit required to put them on the path of safety.
Only on the path, however.
Their escape was still problematical: for the steeds, perceiving their intention, wheeled suddenly into the line of pursuit, and went galloping after, with snorts and screams that betrayed a spiteful determination to overtake them.
From that moment it became a straight unchanging chase across country—a trial of speed between the horses without riders, and the horses that were ridden.
At intervals did Maurice carry his chin to his shoulder; and though still preserving the distance gained at the start, his look was not the less one of apprehension.
Alone he would have laughed to scorn his pursuers.
He knew that the blood-bay—himself a prairie steed—could surpass any competitor of his race.
But the mare was delaying him. She was galloping slower than he had ever seen her—as if unwilling, or not coveting escape—like a horse with his head turned away from home!
“What can it mean?” muttered the mustanger, as he checked his pace, to accommodate it to that of his companion. “If there should be any baulk at the crossing, we’re lost!
A score of seconds will make the difference.”
“We keep our distance, don’t we?” inquired his fellow-fugitive, noticing his troubled look.
“So far, yes.
Unfortunately there’s an obstruction ahead. It remains to be seen how we shall get over it.
I know you are a clever rider, and can take a long leap. But your mount?
I’m not so sure of the mare.
You know her better than I.
Do you think she can carry you over—”
“Over what, sir?”
“You’ll see in a second.
We should be near the place now.”
The conversation thus carried on was between two individuals riding side by side, and going at a gallop of nearly a mile to the minute!
As the guide had predicted, they soon came within sight of the obstruction; which proved to be an arroyo—a yawning fissure in the plain full fifteen feet in width, as many in depth, and trending on each side to the verge of vision.
To turn aside, either to the right or left, would be to give the pursuers the advantage of the diagonal; which the fugitives could no longer afford.
The chasm must be crossed, or the stallions would overtake them.
It could only be crossed by a leap—fifteen feet at the least.
Maurice knew that his own horse could go over it—he had done it before.
But the mare?
“Do you think she can do it?” he eagerly asked, as, in slackened pace, they approached the edge of the barranca.
“I am sure she can,” was the confident reply.
“But are you sure you can sit her over it?”
“Ha! ha! ha!” scornfully laughed the Creole. “What a question for an Irishman to ask!
I’m sure, sir, one of your own countrywomen would be offended at your speech.
Even I, a native of swampy Louisiana, don’t regard it as at all gallant.
Sit her over it!
Sit her anywhere she can carry me.”
“But, Miss Poindexter,” stammered the guide, still doubting the powers of the spotted mustang, “suppose she cannot?
If you have any doubts, had you not better abandon her?
I know that my horse can bear us both to the other side, and with safety.
If the mustang be left behind, in all likelihood we shall escape further pursuit.
The wild steeds—”
“Leave Luna behind!
Leave her to be trampled to death, or torn to pieces—as you say she would!
No—no, Mr Gerald.
I prize the spotted mare too much for that.
She goes with me: over the chasm, if we can.
If not, we both break our necks at the bottom.
Come, my pretty pet!
This is he who chased, captured, and conquered you.
Show him you’re not yet so subdued, but that you can escape, when close pressed, from the toils of either friend or enemy.