They are under an apprehension that some of the savages have ascended to the upper plain, and are still on it, searching for them.
If so, these may be encountered at any moment, returning disappointed from the pursuit.
The fugitives draw some consolation from the knowledge that the pursuers could not have got their horses up the cliff; and, if there is to be another chapter to the chase, it will be on foot--a contest of pedestrian speed.

In a trial of this kind Walt Wilder, at least, has nothing to fear.

The Colossus, with his long strides, would be almost a match for the giant with the seven-leagued boots.
Their only uneasiness is that the savages may have gone out upon the track they are themselves taking, and, appearing in their front, may head them off, and so intercept their retreat.

As there is yet no savage in sight--no sign either of man or animal--their confidence increases; and, after making a mile or so across the plain, they no longer look ahead, but backward.
At short intervals the great brown beard of the guide sweeps his left shoulder, as he casts anxious glances behind him.

They are all the more anxious on observing--which he now does--that his fellow-fugitive flags in his pace, and shows signs of giving out.
With a quick comprehension, and without any questions asked, Wilder understands the reason.