They struck the horses into a sweeping gallop, which with a few interruptions they maintained until they were a hundred miles from the camp of the white men and among the fastnesses of the Sierras.
Then it was the red men made a careful survey of the trail behind them.
The black penetrating eyes scanned the country with a piercing keenness which it would seem shut out all possibility of concealment.

Nowhere could they detect the faint smoke climbing toward the sky from among the trees nor could they gain sight of the line of horsemen winding around the rocks in the distance.

Nothing resembling a human being was visible.
Surely they were warranted in believing themselves perfectly secure.
Such being their conclusion, they prepared for a great feast.

Six of the stolen horses were killed and the red men became as ardent hipophagi as was the club of advanced Parisians a short time ago.

The roasted meat tasted as fine to them as though it was the choicest slices from the bison or deer, and they ate and frolicked like so many children let loose for a holiday.
But in the midst of their feast was heard a series of frightful yells and whoops.