"It iss so! It iss so!" he said softly, although excitement now showed in his tone. "The Comanches have come! Presently more riders will enter the trail, and beyond will lie their camp. Now, young Herr Philip, it iss for us to go with great care."

A mile farther the trail was merged with that of at least twenty hors.e.m.e.n. Phil himself did not doubt that the new Indian camp lay before them. The forest was now heavy with undergrowth here and there, for which he was thankful, since it afforded hiding for Arenberg and himself, while the trail was so broad that they could not possibly miss it. There was another fortunate circ.u.mstance. They had been longer on the trail than they had realized, and the twilight was now coming fast.

It already lay in deep shadows over the vast, lonely wilderness.

Although he was very near, Phil saw Arenberg's figure enveloped in a sort of black mist, and the horse's feet made but little sound on the soft snow. At intervals the two stopped to listen, because there was no doubt now in the mind of either that they were close to a large Indian camp. A half hour of this, and they stopped longer than usual. Both distinctly heard a low chant. Arenberg knew that it was the song of Indian women at work.

"Phil," he said, "we are close by. Let us leave our horses here and steal forward. We may lose the horses or we may not, but we cannot scout on horseback close up to the Indian camp."

Phil did not hesitate. They fastened the horses to swinging boughs in dense thickets, trusting them to the fortune that had been kind thus far, and then crept through the snow and among the frees toward the low sound of the chant. At the edge of a thicket of scrub cedar they knelt down and looked through the snow-laden branches into an Indian village that lay in the valley beyond.

It was a broad valley, with a creek now frozen over running through it, and the village, a large one, was evidently not more than a day or two old, as many of the lodges were not yet finished. All these lodges were of buffalo skin on poles, and the squaws were still at work on some of them. Others were beating buffalo meat or deer meat before the cooking fires, and yet others dragged from the snow the dead wood that lay about plentifully. Many warriors were visible here and there amid the background of flame, but they merely lounged, leaving the work to the squaws.

"It may be the band of Black Panther," said Phil.

"I think it iss," said Arenberg, "but I also think it has been swollen by the addition of another band or two."

The two were lying so close under the dwarf pines that Phil's arm was pressed against Arenberg's side, and he could feel the German trembling all over. Phil knew perfectly that it was not fear, but a powerful emotion that could thus shake the strong soul of his friend. Evidently the Indians had no thought of a foreign presence in a region so far from any settlement. A feeling of good-humor seemed to pervade the village.

It was obvious that they had found game in abundance, and thus the Indian's greatest want was filled.

Some of the Indian women continued the low humming chant that Phil and Arenberg had first heard, and others chattered as they worked about the fires. But Arenberg's eyes were for neither men nor women. He was watching a group of children at the outskirts. They were mostly boys, ranging in years from eight to thirteen, and, despite the darkness and the distance, he followed them with a gaze so intense, so full of longing, that it was painful to Phil who saw it. But it was impossible to distinguish. It was merely a group of Indian lads, half at play, half at work, and it would have been folly for the two to go closer.

But only hope was in the soul of Arenberg. The mystic spell of the great woods was on him, and he did not believe that he had come so far merely to lose at last. Phil suddenly felt his great frame shake under a stronger quiver of emotion than before. About a third of the Indian boys, carrying tin pails or stone jars, moved up the creek.

"Come," whispered Arenberg, in intense excitement. "They're going after water, where it is not defiled by offal from the village! We'll follow them on this side of the creek! See, the dwarf pines continue along the bank indefinitely!"

Arenberg led the way, treading softly in the snow. He was now the director, and Phil obeyed him in everything. Besides his own perception of the critical, Phil caught some of the intense excitement that surcharged every pore of Arenberg's being. He felt sure that something was going to happen. The thought was like fire in his brain.

The boys moved on toward a point where the ice had been broken already.

The creek curved, and the village behind them pa.s.sed out of sight, although its sounds could yet be heard plainly. Directly they came to the water hole and filled the pails and jars. Arenberg's excitement was increasing. He was much closer to them now, and again he studied every figure with a concentration of vision that was extraordinary. Yet the night was already dark, the figures were indistinct, and, to Phil at least, one figure, barring size, looked just like another.

The boys turned away, walked perhaps a dozen paces, and then Phil heard by his side a soft whistle, low, melodious, a bar of some quaint old song. It might have been mistaken in a summer night for the song of a bird. The boys stopped, but moved on again in a moment, thinking perhaps it was only fancy. Another ten feet, and that melodious whistle came again, lower than ever, but continuing the quaint old song. The third boy from the rear stopped and listened a little longer than the others. But the sound had been so faint, so clever an approach to the sighing of the wind among the pines, that the other boys seemed to take no notice of it. Arenberg was moving along in a parallel line with them, keeping behind the pines. Phil followed close behind him, and once more he put his hand on his arm. Now he felt, with increasing force, that the man was shaken by some tremendous internal excitement.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "The third boy from the rear stopped and listened"]

The file of Indian boys moved on, save the one who had been third from the last. He was carrying a pail of water, and he lingered, looking cautiously in the direction whence the low whistle had come. He was a small, strong figure, in Indian dress, a fur cap on his head. He seemed to be struggling with some memory, some flash out of the past. Then Arenberg, rising above the breast-work of pines, his head showing clearly over the topmost fringe, whistled a third bar of the old German folk song, so low, so faint that to Phil himself it was scarcely more than the sighing of the wind. The boy straightened up and the pail of water dropped from his hands upon the soft snow. Then he pursed his lips and whistled softly, continuing the lines of the melody.

An extraordinary thrill, almost like the chill of the supernatural, ran down Phil's back, but it was nothing to the emotion that shook the German. With a sudden cry: "It iss he!" Arenberg leaped entirely over the pine bushes, ran across the frozen creek, and s.n.a.t.c.hed up the boy in his arms. It was Phil then who retained his coolness, luckily for them both. He seized the fallen rifle and called:

"Come! Come, Hans, come with the boy, we must ride for our lives now!"

Arenberg came suddenly back to the real world and the presence of great danger, just when he had found his son. He lifted the boy in his arms, ran with him across the creek, up the slope, and through the bushes.

Little Billy scarcely stirred, but remained with his arms clasped around his father's neck. Already hostile sounds were coming from the Indian camp. The Indian boys, at the sound of Arenberg's footsteps, had turned back, and had seen what had happened.

"We must reach the horses," cried Phil, retaining his full presence of mind. "If we can do that before they wing us we'll escape. Run ahead.

I'll bring your rifle."

Arenberg, despite the weight of his boy, rushed toward the horses. Phil kept close behind, carrying the two rifles. From the village came a long, fierce cry, the Comanche war whoop. Then it came back from the snowy forest in faint, dying echoes, full of menace. Phil knew that in a few moments the alert warriors would be on their ponies and in full pursuit.

"Faster, Hans! Faster!" he cried. "Never mind how much noise we may make now or how broad a trail we may leave! To the horses! To the horses!"

The little boy was perfectly silent, clinging to his father's neck, and Arenberg himself did not speak now. In a minute they reached the horses, untied them, and sprang upon their backs, Billy, as they always called him hereafter, sitting with a sure seat behind his father. Phil handed Arenberg his rifle:

"Take it," he said. "You may need it!"

Arenberg received the weapon mechanically. Before, he had been the leader. Now Phil took the position. He dashed away in the forest, turning toward the east, and the hoofs of Arenberg's horse thudded on the snow at his flank. They heard behind them the second shout of the Comanches, who had now crossed the creek on their ponies. Arenberg suddenly lifted his boy about and placed him in front of him. Phil understood. If a bullet came, it was now Arenberg instead of his boy who would receive it.

But it was not in vain that their horses had rested and eaten the sweet, clean gra.s.s so long. Now they obeyed the sudden call upon acc.u.mulated strength and energy, and, despite the double burden that Arenberg's horse bore, raced on at a speed that yet held the Indian ponies out of rifle shot.

"We must keep to the east, Hans," said Phil, "because if we brought them down on our friends at The Silver Cup we'd all be overpowered. Maybe we can shake them off. If so, we'll take a wide curve to our place. You ride a little ahead now. I can use the rifle better, as you have to look out for Billy besides yourself."

Arenberg urged his horse to greater speed and continued about a length ahead of Phil. Fortunately the forest was open here, and they could go at good speed without the dangers of tripping or becoming entangled.

Phil looked back for the first time. He saw at some distance a half dozen Comanches on their ponies, mere shadowy outlines in the dusk, but he knew that more were behind them. His heart sank a little, too, when he remembered the tenacity of the Indians in pursuit.

"They're not gaining, Hans," he said, "and if they do I'll shoot at the first who comes up. Keep a watch for a good path, and I'll follow."

They galloped on an hour perhaps, and then the Indians began to yell again. Two or three fired their rifles, although the bullets fell short.

"Don't worry, Hans," called Phil. "They're merely trying to frighten us. They have not gained."

He sent back a taunting cry, twirled his own rifle in defiance, and then remembered that it was the slender, long-barreled Kentucky weapon, the highest of its type. He took another glance backward, but this was a measuring one. "It will reach," was his thought. He turned his whole body from the hips up in his saddle, took swift aim at the leading Comanche, and fired. The white smoke puffed from the muzzle of his rifle, the report was uncommonly loud and sharp in the night, and the bullet went home. The leading Indian fell from his pony in the snow, and the pony ran away. A fierce cry of rage came from the Comanches.

"It was well done, Herr Philip," said Arenberg. He did not look back, but he knew from the cry of the Indians that Phil's bullet had struck its target. The Comanches dropped back somewhat, but they were still near enough to keep the two flying horses in sight. Phil and Arenberg maintained their course, which was leading far from The Silver Cup.

Phil's brain was cooling with the long gallop, and his nerves were becoming steadier. The change in himself caused him to notice other changes around him.

The air felt damp to his face, and the night seemed to have grown darker. He thought at first that it was mere fancy, but when he looked up he knew that it was the truth. He could not see the moon, and, just as he looked, the last star winked and went out. The damp touch on his face was that of a snowflake, and, as he still looked, the dark clouds stalked somberly across the sky.

"The snow! the snow," he murmured in eager prayer. "Let it come! It will save us!"

Another and larger flake dropped on his face, and--after it, came more, falling fast now, large and feathery. He looked back for the last time.

Not a single pursuer could be seen in the heavy gloom. He felt that their chance had come. He rode up by the side of Arenberg.

"Hans," he said, "turn sharp to the south. Look how the snow comes down! It is impossible for them to follow us now. It does not matter how we blunder along except that we must keep close together."

"It iss good," said Arenberg, as he turned his horse's head. "The great G.o.d is putting a veil about us, and we are saved!"

He spoke with unaffected solemnity, and Phil felt that his words were true. He felt, too, that they would not have escaped had it not been for the great snow that was now coming down. Surely a power had intervened in their behalf.

They rode southward for about an hour through forest, comparatively free from undergrowth, the two horses keeping so close together that the knees of their riders touched. The snow continued to fall, and they went on, always in a dense white gloom, leaving to their horses the choice of the path. They stopped finally under a huge tree, where they were sheltered, in some degree, from the snow, and Arenberg made the boy more comfortable on the saddle behind.

"h.e.l.lo, Billy," said Phil. "Do you know that you've been away from home a long time? Your father was beginning to fear that you'd never come back."

The boy smiled, and, despite the Indian paint on his face, Phil saw there the blue eyes and features of Arenberg. He guessed, too, that the black hair under the cap would become gold as soon as the paint wore off.

"I not know at first," said Billy, speaking slowly and hesitatingly, as if it were difficult for him to remember the English language, "but the song when I hear it one, two, three times, then it come back and I answered. I knew my father, too, when he picked me up."

Arenberg gave him a squeeze, then he produced from his pocket some jerked venison, which Billy ate eagerly.

"He's strong and hearty, that's evident," said Phil. "And, since we cannot leave any trail while the snow is pouring down in this way, I suggest that we let our horses rest for awhile, and then ride as straight as we can for The Silver Cup."