Jack could not doubt that his friend Otto was driven to such severe
effort by the appearance of Indians, but it would seem that the
terrific gait of the Steed ought to have taken him beyond all danger
very speedily, whereas, for more than a mile, the pace showed not
the slightest diminution.

At the most, Otto was not more than an hour in advance, and his
friend, therefore, had good reason to fear he was in the immediate
vicinity of the dreaded red men.

The young hunter was brave, but he was not reckless. He had refused
to turn aside to avoid a collision with the cougar, but he did not
hesitate to leave the trail, in the hope of escaping the savages who
were likely to be attracted by the report of the gun.

From the beginning the lad had stepped as lightly as possible,
bringing his feet softly but squarely down on the ground, after the
fashion of the American Indian, when threading his way through the
trackless forest. He now used the utmost care in leaving the trail,
for none knew better than he the amazing keenness of the dark eyes
that were liable to scan the ground over which he had passed.

Not until he was several rods from the footprints of the flying
horse did he advance with anything like assurance. He then moved
with more certainty until he reached a chestnut, whose trunk was
broad enough to afford all the concealment he could desire.

Stepping behind this, Jack assumed a position which gave him a view
of the trail, with no likelihood of being seen, unless the suspicion
of the Indians should be directed to the spot.