But one thing could be done:  that was to run, and Warren Starr and Tim Brophy did it in the highest style of the art.  They put their ponies to their utmost pace without an instant’s delay.  The animals, as if conscious of their peril, bounded across the snowy plain on a dead run, with their riders stretching forward over their necks to escape the bullets expected every moment.

It must have been that the Sioux were sure the fugitives would look around the next moment, else they would have stolen nearer before announcing their presence in such a startling fashion.

The only hope for the young ranchers lay in the speed of their horses, since there was no other possible chance against the bucks who were as fierce after their lives as so many ravening wolves.  The boys shouted to their animals, who flew across the plain as though the snow did not discommode them in the least.  They did not separate, for the instinctive resolve thrilled them that they would fall or escape together.

Each was provided with a repeating Winchester, and enough has been told to prove they knew how to use the weapons effectively, but the opportunity was hardly the present, since to turn and fire while their ponies were on the run, offered little chance of success, and was liable to interfere with their speed, so important above everything else.

The flight was so sudden that, without thought, they headed toward the wooded ridge, where they had seen the suspicious signal fire, but they had not gone far before discovering that that would never do.  The flight must end at the ridge, where they would find themselves at fearful disadvantage.

“We must have the open plain or we are lost!” called Warren.

“Ay, ay; I’m wid ye,” replied Tim, who pulled sharply on the right rein of his animal.  At the same moment his friend turned the head of his horse to the left, and, before the comrades were aware, they were diverging with several rods between them.

Warren was the first to perceive the mistake, and believing he had adopted the right line of flight, shouted for his friend to do the same.  Tim had already noticed the turn and now thundered across the prairie toward him.  But the devious course, as will be readily seen, threw him slightly to the rear, seeing which, Warren drew in his animal to allow him to come up.

“None of that!” called the Irishman; “ye’ve no advantage to throw away!  Ye can’t hilp me by that nonsense.”

But Warren gave him no heed.  The next minute Tim was almost at his side.

“I belave we’re riding faster than the spalpeens,” he added, glancing for the twentieth time to the rear, where the Sioux were forcing their horses to the utmost.  They did not fire for some time after the opening volley, giving their whole attention to this run for life.

That the capacities of the pursuing ponies varied was quickly apparent.  Several began dropping to the rear, but more than half maintained their places near each other.

It was hard to tell whether they were holding their own or gradually drifting back from the fugitives.  The one hopeful fact was that as yet they were not gaining.  Whether they would do so or lose ground must quickly appear.

Tim Brophy now performed a deed as reckless as it was daring.  He watched the rear more than did Warren, and was in the act of drawing up beside the latter, when he discovered that one of the Sioux was leading all the rest.  He was fully a rod in advance, and what was more alarming than everything else, he was gaining, beyond question, on the fugitives.  His horse had developed a burst of speed that no one anticipated.

Rising to the sitting posture in the saddle, Tim brought his gun to his shoulder.

“Don’t do that!” admonished Warren.  “You have no chance to hit him, and will cause Billy to lose ground.”

The Irishman made no reply; he was too much occupied with the act he had in mind.  Furthermore, he noted that the buck whom he held in such fear was making ready to fire.

But Tim was ahead of him, and, by one of those strange accidents which sometimes happen, he hit him so fair and hard that, with the invariable cry of his race when mortally hurt, he reeled sideways and fell to the ground, his horse, with a snort of alarm, circling off over the prairie far from his companions.

Warren glanced around at the moment the gun was discharged and could hardly believe his own eyes.  He knew the success was accidental, and hoped it would not encourage Tim to repeat the attempt.

It was expected that the shot would serve as a check to the rest, and ordinarily it would have done so, but it produced not the slightest effect in that direction.  Back of the fallen warrior, whose body rolled over and over in the snow, as it struck with a rebound, were more than half a dozen, with the others streaming after them.  They gave no heed to their fallen leader, neither uttering any outcry nor firing in return, but pressing their ponies to the highest possible point.  They were resolved upon capturing those fugitives and subjecting them to a punishment beside which shooting would be a mercy.

It would not do to forget the country in front.  While their chief interest lay to the rear, they were liable to run into some peril that would undo all the good gained by outrunning their pursuers.  Warren saw that while they had swerved to the left, yet the course of the ridge would carry them to its base, unless they diverged still more from the direct path.

And yet this divergence must be made as gradual as circumstances would permit, since otherwise great advantage would be given their enemies by the chance to “cut across lots,” or in other words to follow a straight line, while offsetting the curved course of the fugitives.

Directing the attention of Tim to the situation, he begged him to give no further thought to firing upon their foes.

“I’ll let the spalpeens alone if they’ll do the same wid me,” was his reply, spoken in a low voice, for the two were separated by only a few feet.

“You can’t have as good luck a second time.”

“But,” persisted Tim, “if I hadn’t dropped that felly, he would have tumbled you or mesilf out of the saddle, as he was about to do whin I jumped on him wid both feet.”

But Warren begged him to desist, confident as he was that any further attempt would result in ill to them.  Tim held his peace, but leaving his friend to watch where they went he gave his chief attention to the Sioux, whose leaders, if they were not gaining ground, seemed to be holding their own.

Suddenly, to Warren’s disgust, his companion again brought his gun to his shoulder.  Before he could aim and fire, however, one of the bucks discharged his weapon and the bullet nipped the leg of young Starr, who continued leaning forward, so as to offer as little of his body as possible for a target.

Tim fired, but more than likely the ball went wide of the mark.

His companion hoped that the act of their pursuers in shooting was caused by their fear of losing the fugitives through the speed of their ponies.

But a short distance was necessary before the boys were riding in a line parallel with the ridge that had loomed up in their path.  This gave them an open country for an unknown distance, over which to continue their flight, but it was hardly to be supposed that it would continue long.  The section was too broken to warrant such a hope.

It may have been the perception of the fugitives’ object that brought the shot from the Sioux.  At any rate, if it should become manifest that the young ranchers were drawing away, the rifles of the pursuers were certain to be brought into effective use, and the distance between the parties was fearfully brief.