"WHAT WILL BE THEIR NEXT STEP?"  
Brinton Kingsland was in the saddle again on the instant, and his pony dashed down the arroya at full speed.
 
"Wolf Ear has hurried back to tell the rest that he has seen us, and they will be here in a few minutes," was the belief that lent wings to his speed.
 
It was a comparatively short ride to where his friends awaited him. A minute sufficed for them to learn the alarming tidings.
 
"It won't do to delay another second; come on!"
 
The next moment the two horses followed the youth out of the gully upon the plain.
 
"Can you stand it, father?" he asked, holding his pony back and looking inquiringly at him.
 
"Yes, my son; don't think of me," was the brave response, as the parent struck his animal into a gallop.
 
The mother was a capital horsewoman, and little Edith, who was now fully awake, once more accommodated herself to her position, so as to save all embarrassment so far as she was concerned.
 
Child-like, she wanted to ask innumerable questions, but she was intelligent enough to understand that silence was expected of her, and she held her peace, wondering, perplexed, and frightened.
 
The wintry afternoon was wearing to a close. The sky maintained its heavy leaden hue, the wind blew fitfully and was of piercing keenness, and the occasional snow-flakes, whirling about the heads of the fugitives, were more like hailstones than the soft downy particles which had appeared earlier in the afternoon. The view was shortened in the gathering gloom, and the anxious eyes glancing around the different points of the compass, and especially to the rear, failed to reveal the dreaded horsemen from whom they were fleeing.
 
The hope of the little party lay in keeping beyond sight of their enemies until night. With no moon and stars to guide them, the hostiles could not keep their trail, which our friends were sure to make as winding as possible.
 
As the night approached, their hopes increased. Darkness was closing in when they reached the bank of the Big Cheyenne, and, for the first time since leaving the arroya, they drew rein.
 
"This is better than I dared expect," said the father in high spirits, and seemingly strengthened by his sharp ride through the cutting cold; "I can hardly understand it."
 
"I suspect that Wolf Ear made a blunder."
 
"In what way?"
 
"He did not think we should leave the gully before night; he went back and told the rest. They dared not attack us where we had some show to defend ourselves; they will not discover our flight until it is too late."
 
While there seemed reason in this belief, it did not fully satisfy the father. It was not in keeping with the subtlety of the American Indian that they should allow a party of whites to ride directly away from them, when they were at their mercy. Any one of the hostiles, by climbing the side of the arroya, was sure to see the little company of fugitives emerge therefrom, and it was inconceivable that they should not take that simple precaution.
 
"There is something beyond all this which has not yet appeared," he said; "neither Wolf Ear nor his companions are fools."
 
The river swept by in the gathering darkness at their feet. The current was not swift, but pieces of ice lay against the shores, and floated past in the middle of the stream. The opposite bank could hardly be seen in the gloom.
 
"Must we cross that?" asked Mrs. Kingsland, as the horses halted on the margin of the icy waters.
 
"Yes," replied her husband, "and twenty miles further we must cross the White, to say nothing of smaller streams, which may be as deep and more difficult. Pine Ridge lies fifty miles away, and there's no going round any of the water."
 
"It will be the death of us to swim our horses," she said with a shudder; "we shall freeze to death."
 
"That is not to be thought of," Brinton hastened to explain; "while the Cheyenne has many deep places at this season, there are others where a horse can wade across without wetting one's stirrups."
 
"But how are we to know such fords?"
 
"By trying, and there's no better place than this; wait till I make the attempt."
 
With commendable promptness he urged Jack forward, and the animal, understanding what was required of him, stepped among the pieces of ice along the bank. He slipped on one, and Edith uttered a cry of alarm.
 
"Look out, Brint! You will fall into the water."
 
"Don't fret about me," he called back.
 
A few reassuring words to his pony, who hesitated and sniffed, as if about to draw back, and he continued his cautious advance into the stream, the others anxiously watching his progress.
 
Should the water prove deep enough to force the steed to swim, it would never do, for that would necessitate the saturation of the garments of all, which meant freezing to death.
 
As long as the ponies maintained a sure footing, even though the water crept well up their sides, the riders could guard themselves against the dreaded wetting. Brinton, therefore, ventured into the stream with the utmost care, his animal feeling every step of the way. Ten steps from the bank, and the water touched Brinton's stirrups. He withdrew his feet and held them out of reach. He was so excellent a horseman that, by the pressure of his knees, he sat almost as firmly in the saddle as if with the support for his feet.
 
"Be careful, Jack; slowly—slowly—slowly!"
 
Jack was sniffing, with his neck outstretched and his nose almost on the surface of the water, The breath issued like steam through his thin silken nostrils, and he paid no heed to a triangular piece of jagged ice which struck his hind legs with a sharp thrust, and then swung clear. He knew his duty, and was doing his "level best."
 
The rider turned his head and looked back. The forms of his parents on their motionless horses were dim, and growing more indistinct in the approaching night.
 
Seeing him turn his head, his father called something in a guarded undertone, which the son did not catch, but, believing it was simply a request for him to be careful, he replied, "All right," and went on with the work in hand.
 
Several steps further and the water had not perceptibly deepened. Brinton, indeed, was inclined to think it had slightly shallowed.
 
"We are pretty near the middle, and it begins to look as if I had struck the right spot after all Halloa! what's up now?"
 
Jack had stopped, just as he did in the arroya, and with the same appearance of alarm.
 
"Can it be that you have scented a deep place in front and want to save me from a bath?"
 
Brinton Kingsland checked the light question on his lips, for at the moment of uttering it his own vision answered the query in a manner that fairly lifted his cap from his head.
 
A horseman was advancing through the water from the other side of the Cheyenne. He was several rods away, but near enough for the youth to recognise him as an Indian warrior. He had entered the icy stream, as if to meet the other, who in the same glance that identified him dimly discerned more horsemen on the bank beyond.
 
As in the former instance, Jack had discovered the peril before his master and halted, not through fear of a chilling bath, but because of a tenfold greater danger stealing upon them.
 
It looked as if the hostiles, from whom they were fleeing, had come towards the river from beyond, and were again between them and safety.
 
If so, the question might well be asked what was meant by this extraordinary behaviour of the red men? Why did they not conceal themselves until the fugitives rode directly into their arms? Why take this risk of sending one of their number to meet an enemy in mid-stream, where, despite whatever advantage the savage possessed, he could not help yielding a portion of it to his foe?
 
But it was a moment for action and not for conjecture and speculation.
 
In the same moment that Brinton recognised the horseman immediately in his front as a foe, he observed that his pony had also halted and the rider was in the act of bringing his weapon to his shoulder.
 
The mitten was snatched from the youth's right hand and thrust in the pocket of his coat. He had no time to slip the other off, nor was it necessary, since that only supported the rifle. He hastily brought his Winchester to a level, and, knowing that everything depended upon who was the quicker, he took instant aim at the centre of the dark figure and let fly.
 
With a wild cry the Indian rolled from his pony, and disappeared in the dark waters. His animal, with a snort of alarm, whirled about and dashed to shore, sending the spray flying in all directions.
 
"Quick, Jack! back with you!"
 
Brinton flung himself on the neck of his pony, who seemed to spin about on his hind feet as he galloped furiously through the water for the shore he had just left. Nothing but this precaution and the deepening gloom saved the daring youth from death. It required a few precious seconds for the hostiles on the other bank to comprehend what had taken place, and when they began firing the form of the horse and his rider were fast vanishing from sight.
 
But the bullets were whistling perilously near his friends, who did not quite comprehend what had taken place.
 
"Move further down the bank!" called Brinton in a guarded undertone; "quick! don't stop to ask why, but do as I say!"
 
The parents obeyed, and a minute or two was sufficient to take them out of range.
 
"Follow them, Jack, and move lively!"
 
The pony obeyed, and he too passed beyond danger for the time.
 
The darkness was too deep for the persons on either bank to discern the others across the stream. The hostiles kept up their firing, in a blind way, hoping that some of their shots might reach the fugitives. Brinton had lain down on the shore, so as to decrease the danger of being struck by any of the stray bullets. He could tell where the others were by the flash of their guns, but deemed it best not to fire for the present, through fear of betraying his own position.
 
The dropping shots continued for a few minutes, and then suddenly stopped. It was impossible to tell in the gloom what his enemies were doing, but he suspected the truth: they were preparing to ford the river, with a view of bringing the combatants to close quarters.
 
Peering intently into the night, he made out the faint outline of a horseman feeling his way across, and did not doubt that others were close behind him. This must be a particularly favourable ford, else the hostiles would try some other, if they knew of any in the immediate vicinity.
 
It was necessary to check this advance, if he expected to save the dear ones with him. The moment, therefore, he made sure of the object approaching, he sighted as best he could and blazed away, instantly shifting his own position, to escape the return shot which he knew would be quick in coming.
 
It was well he did so, for the flash and report of several rifles and the whistling of the bullets told of the peril escaped by a very narrow chance.
 
There was no reason to believe that his own shot had been fatal, for there was no outcry, nor did the listening ear detect any splash in the water, such as marked his first essays when in mid-stream; but he had accomplished that which he sought—he had checked the advance, which otherwise must have been fatal to him and his companions. The form of the horseman disappeared in the gloom. He had returned to the shore whence he came, and it was safe to conclude that he would not soon repeat the attempt.
 
"What will be their next step?" was the question that presented itself to the young defender of the ford.
 
It was not to be expected that they would try to cross in the face of the certain reception that awaited them.
 
"They know more of the Cheyenne than we do," Brinton Kingsland thought, "and must be aware of some place where they can reach this side without danger. If they do succeed in coming over, there will be trouble."
 
He dared not wait long, for nothing was to be gained, while he ran the risk of losing everything. Only the sound of the rushing water, the crunching of the ice, reached his ear. Rising to his feet and peering into the gloom, he could discern nothing of his foes.
 
"There's no need of my staying here," he decided, starting along the stream in quest of his parents.
 
When he had passed a hundred yards without seeing them, he was astonished. Another hundred, and still they were invisible, and the cautious signals he made remained unanswered.