Night was close at hand, and, if he could dodge the red-skin until darkness, the lad was confident of escaping him altogether.
For a short distance, the ravine continued in almost a straight line, and then it turned at a sharp angle.

Without attempting to guide the mustang in the least, Fred kept himself thrown forward, with his arms about his neck, while he hammered his sides with his heels, spoke sharply to him, and did everything he could to urge him to the highest possible rate of speed.

The animal whirled about the corner, and, with his neck extended, went down the ravine with almost incredible swiftness--a speed which was steadily drawing him away from his pursuer, and which would have carried him beyond his reach in a brief time, but for a singular and altogether unexpected check.
The pursuing red-skin saw his charge quietly slipping from his grasp, and he must have viewed the wonderful speed of his favorite mustang, under the circumstances, with mixed emotions.

At any rate, it took him but a short time to see that in a stern chase he had no chance of coming up with his own animal, and so he commanded him to halt.

This was done by a peculiar, tremulous whooping sound, which he had used scores of times to summon his animal to him, and which had never failed.