I spoke in Comanche. I was not so sure of the correctness of my words-- either of the pronunciation or the syntax--but I had the gratification to perceive that I was understood. Perhaps my gestures helped the savages to comprehend me--the meaning of these was not to be mistaken.

From whatever cause, the pursuers made no further advance; but one and all, drawing in their horses, halted upon the spot.

I stayed not for further parley; but, wheeling quickly round, galloped away from them, as fast as the mustang could carry me.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED.

THE LAST CHASE.

On facing towards the hill, I perceived the steed still not so distant.

His white body, gleaming under the clear moonlight, could have been easily distinguished at a far greater distance. I had expected to see him much farther away; but, after all, the tilt of lances, and the menace delivered to the pursuing horsemen, had scarcely occupied a score of seconds, and he could not in the time have gone out of sight.

He was still running between myself and the foot of the hill--apparently keeping along the bank of the stream.

I put the Indian horse to his full speed. The point of my knife served for whip and spur. I was no longer encumbered with the spear; it had been left in the body of Hissoo-royo.

I kept my eyes fixed upon the steed, but he was fast closing in to the timber that skirted the base of the hill; he was nearing the bend where I had taken to the water, and would soon be hidden from my view behind the bushes.

All at once I saw him swerve, and strike away to the left, across the open plain. To my surprise I saw this, for I had conjectured that his rider was aiming to reach the cover offered by the thicket.

Without waiting to think of an explanation, I headed the mustang into the diagonal line, and galloped forward.

I was in hopes of getting nearer by the advantage thus given me; but I was ill satisfied with the creeping pace of the Indian horse so unlike the long, free stretch of my matchless Moro. Where was he? Why was I not bestriding him?

The white steed soon shot clear of the hill, and was now running upon the plain that stretched beyond it.

I saw that I was not gaining upon him; on the contrary, he was every moment widening the distance between us. Where was Moro? Why had he been taken away?

At that instant I perceived a dark horseman making along the foot of the ridge, as if to intercept me; he was dashing furiously through the thicket that skirted the base of the declivity. I could hear the bushes rattling against the flanks of his horse; he was evidently making all the haste in his power, at the same time aiming to keep concealed from the view of those upon the plain.

I recognised my horse, and upon his back the thin lank form of the earless trapper!

We met the moment after, at the point where the thicket ended.

Without a word passing between us, both simultaneously flung ourselves to the ground, exchanged horses, and remounted. Thank Heaven! Moro was at last between my knees!

"Now, young fellur!" cried the trapper, as I parted from him, "gallip like hell, an kitch up with her! We'll soon be arter on yur trail--all right thur. Away!"

I needed no prompting from Rube; his speech was not finished, before I had sprung my horse forward, and was going like the wind.

It was only then that I could comprehend why the horses had been changed; a _ruse_ it was--an after-thought of the cunning trappers!

Had I mounted my own conspicuous steed by the camp, the Indians would, in all probability, have suspected something, and continued the pursuit; it was the spotted mustang that had enabled me to carry out the counterfeit!

I had now beneath me a horse I could depend upon and with renewed vigour I bent myself to the chase. For the third time, the black and white stallions were to make trial of their speed--for the third time was it to be a struggle between these noble creatures.

Would the struggle be hard and long? Would Moro again be defeated?

Such were my reflections as I swept onward in the pursuit.

I rode in silence; I scarcely drew breath, so keen were my apprehensions about the result.

A long start had the prairie-horse. My delay had thrown me far behind him--nearly a mile. But for the friendly light, I should have lost sight of him altogether; but the plain was open, the moon shining brightly, and the snow-white form, like a meteor, beaconed me onward.

I had not galloped far before I perceived that I was rapidly gaining upon the steed. Surely he was not running at his fleetest? Surely he was going more slowly than was his wont?

Oh! could his rider but know who was coming after!--could she but hear me!

I would have called, but the distance was still too great. She could not have heard even my shouts; how then distinguish my voice?

I galloped on in silence. I was gaining--constantly and rapidly gaining. Surely I was drawing nearer? or were my eyes playing false under the light of the moon?

I fancied that the steed was running heavily--slowly and heavily--as if he was labouring in the race. I fancied--no, it was no fancy--I was sure of it! Beyond a doubt, he was not going at his swiftest speed!

What could it mean? Was he broken by fatigue?

Still nearer and nearer I came, until scarcely three hundred yards appeared between us. My shout might now be heard; my voice--

I called aloud; I called the name of my betrothed, coupling it with my own; but no answer came back--no sign of recognition to cheer me.

The ground that lay between us favoured a race-course speed; and I was about putting my horse to his full stretch, when, to my astonishment, I saw the white steed stagger forward, and fall headlong to the earth!

It did not check my career; and in a few seconds more I was upon the spot, and halting over horse and rider, still prostrate.

I flung myself from the saddle just as Isolina disengaged herself, and rose to her feet. With her right hand clasping the red knife, she stood confronting me.

"Savage! approach me not!" she cried in the Comanche tongue, and with a gesture that told her determination.

"Isolina! I am not--It is--"

"Henri!"

No words interrupted that wild embrace; no sound could be heard save that made by our hearts, as they throbbed closely together.

Silently I stood upon the plain with my betrothed in my arms. Moro was by our side, proudly curving his neck and chafing the steel between his foaming lips. At our feet lay the prairie-horse with the barb in his vitals, and the feathered shaft protruding from his side. His eyes were fixed and glassy; blood still ran from his spread nostrils; but his beautiful limbs were motionless in death!

Horsemen were seen approaching the spot. We did not attempt to flee from them: I recognised my followers.

They came galloping up; and, drawing bridle, sat silent in their saddles.

We looked back over the plain; there was no sign of pursuit; but for all that, we did not tarry there. We knew not how soon the Indians might be after us; the friends of Hissoo-royo might yet come upon the trail of Wakono!

We scarce gave a parting look to that noble form stretched lifeless at our feet; but plying the spur, rode rapidly away.

It was near daybreak when we halted to rest, and then only after the prairie had been fired behind us.