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Atherton, Gertrude Franklin Horn, 1857-1948

"The Valiant Runaways"

It was heavy dusk when
they emerged. For some time past they had heard wild eccentric cries,
and their three pistols were cocked. As they rode through a grove of
trees beyond the chaparral, they saw a dark something rolling toward
them. In an instant Hill had snatched the boys from the horse and swung
them to the limb of a tree.
"Hide yourselves among the leaves," he said, "and don't even breathe
mor' 'n you kin help."
He gave the horse a sharp cut with his switch and it galloped on; then
he climbed a neighbouring tree with the agility of a wildcat, and
crouched.
The boys gazed into the dusk with distended eyes. The cloud came on with
inconceivable rapidity. In a moment it outlined itself. Those were
living creatures, fleeing. A stampede? No, men. . . . What? Indians?
They were within a hundred yards now, and their lithe naked forms, the
tomahawks and bows and arrows gripped in their clenched hands, could
plainly be seen; a moment later, their evil faces, distorted with fear.
In the middle distance behind them was a huge column of fire. A strange
figure seemed leaping among the flames. It was from this scarlet column
that the strange noises came.


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