With a shout of enthusiasm, several of the younger members of the party sprang forward into the plain at a gallop; but the shout was mingled with one of a different tone from the older men.

“Hist!—­hallo!—­hold on, ye catamounts!  There’s Injuns ahead!”

The whole band came to a sudden halt at this cry, and watched eagerly, and for some time in silence, the motions of a small party of horsemen who were seen in the far distance, like black specks on the golden sky.

“They come this way, I think,” said Major Hope, after gazing steadfastly at them for some minutes.

Several of the old hands signified their assent to this suggestion by a grunt, although to unaccustomed eyes the objects in question looked more like crows than horsemen, and their motion was for some time scarcely perceptible.

“I sees pack-horses among them,” cried young Marston in an excited tone; “an’ there’s three riders; but there’s som’thin’ else, only wot it be I can’t tell.”

“Ye’ve sharp eyes, younker,” remarked one of the men, “an’ I do b’lieve ye’re right.”

Presently the horsemen approached, and soon there was a brisk fire of guessing as to who they could be.  It was evident that the strangers observed the cavalcade of white men, and regarded them as friends, for they did not check the headlong speed at which they approached.  In a few minutes they were clearly made out to be a party of three horsemen driving pack-horses before them, and somethin’ which some of the hunters guessed was a buffalo calf.

Young Marston guessed too, but his guess was different.  Moreover, it was uttered with a yell that would have done credit to the fiercest of all the savages.  “Crusoe!” he shouted, while at the same moment he brought his whip heavily down on the flank of his little horse, and sprang over the prairie like an arrow.

One of the approaching horsemen was far ahead of his comrades, and seemed as if encircled with the flying and voluminous mane of his magnificent horse.

“Ha! ho!” gasped Marston in a low tone to himself, as he flew along.  “Crusoe!  I’d know ye, dog, among a thousand!  A buffalo calf!  Ha! git on with ye!”

This last part of the remark was addressed to his horse, and was followed by a whack that increased the pace considerably.

The space between two such riders was soon devoured.

“Hallo!  Dick—­Dick Varley!”

“Eh! why, Marston, my boy!”

The friends reined up so suddenly that one might have fancied they had met like the knights of old in the shock of mortal conflict.

“Is’t yerself, Dick Varley?”

Dick held out his hand, and his eyes glistened, but he could not find words.

Marston seized it, and pushing his horse close up, vaulted nimbly off and alighted on Charlie’s back behind his friend.

“Off ye go, Dick!  I’ll take ye to yer mother.”

Without reply, Dick shook the reins, and in another minute was in the midst of the hunters.