"They'll distance us!" cried Blake. "They're going to get away!"
"Not very far," was Hank's opinion. "Their horses are about done up. This is a last spurt."
His trained eye had shown him that the Indians were using quirts and their heels to spur the tired animals to a last burst of speed. True, the ponies did leap ahead for a few minutes; but not even the wild shouting of the redmen, the frantic beating of their steeds, and the firing of their guns could make the wearied muscles of the ponies respond for long.
The spurt lasted only a few seconds, and then came a noticeable slowing down. On the contrary, the horses of our friends, though they had traveled far and hard, were in better condition and much fresher.
"Come on!" cried Hank, rising in his stirrups and swinging his hat around his head, while he sent forth yells of defiance. "Come on, boys! We have 'em!"
He, too, began to shoot, but in the air as before, and the boys followed his example. Their horses were shortening the distance between the two parties.
Suddenly one of the Indians was observed to toss something from him. It fell to the ground and rolled to one side of the trail.
