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Updated: June 12, 2025
The paths continued to diverge until they were twenty yards apart, when the mustang appeared to think all danger was passed. By this time Ned Chadmund felt that he was master of himself, and he turned the head of his horse toward the immense fugitive, still gliding forward at the same terrific rate. "I'll fetch him this time," he muttered, with a determined air.
But the grizzly had been so thoroughly scared that he hadn't entirely recovered from it. When something like twenty feet away he halted, and evidently began debating whether it would be prudent to approach. Chadmund could not make out his figure distinctly, although he knew precisely where he was; but, by and by, when the head moved a little, he caught the phosphorescent glitter of the eyes.
The appearance of the cavalry would apprise them that the siege was at an end, and in the gnawing rage thereat, they might charge up the incline and open a fire, which would riddle Dick and Ned and from which there would be no escape. Colonel Chadmund understood Indian warfare so well as to know that Lone Wolf had his scouts out, and it would be a difficult matter to avoid them.
"I don't think it's as much as two hundred miles," he said, as he started off at a rapid walk. "I can make thirty miles a day, so that I will be there at the end of a week, if nothing unexpected gets in the way. Won't father be surprised when he sees me walk up, and won't I be surprised if I manage to do it, also!" For a couple of hours young Chadmund had difficulty in traveling.
Ned Chadmund suffered much, and the roiled and warm water in the old canteen was quaffed again, even though they were compelled to tip it more and more, until, toward the close of the day, Dick held it mouth downward, and showed that not a drop was left. "No use of keeping it when we are thirsty," was the philosophic remark of the hunter.
There they went into camp. An immense fire was kindled, and as it roared and crackled in the night, it threw out a glare that made it like midday for many feet away. Ned Chadmund had been picked up, limp and apparently lifeless, by the chief, Mountain Wolf, and carried to this spot with as much care and tenderness as if he were a pet child of his own.
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