Lena Forest screamed in fear, and began to belabor her horse, urging it on. As her horse jumped into motion, the wild thought that perhaps she could now escape came to her; and she beat the horse with her hands and kicked his side with her heels. He started into a quick jogtrot. The Indian girl rode after her, and again tried to get near enough to strike with the knife. As she did so the bushes parted, and Lightfoot came bounding upon the scene. He shouted at the furiously jealous Indian girl in anger, and, with quick bounds, caught the horse ridden by Lena Forest, throwing it back, with a heavy jerk on the bridle. “Does Wind Flower love death?” he demanded of the Indian girl, facing her now, while holding the bridle of the horse ridden by the prisoner. “The vengeance of Crazy Snake is keen as his scalping knife. He will strike Wind Flower to the earth, if he knows of this. What does my little sister mean by it?” The anger seemed to die out of the face of the Indian girl, to be replaced by a look of fear. “The rough wind of the mountain blew on the head of Wind Flower, and it made her wild,” she said. “But the wind has passed, and she is well again.” He shot her a keen glance. “Be careful that the mountain wind does not strike the head of Wind Flower again,” he warned; “it might take it off, and roll it down the hillside!” He glanced back along the trail, and then at the half-fainting white girl. He drew his hatchet and waved it in her face. “We go on!” he said. “But the mountain wind still blows!” Then he again got behind the horses and drove them on with switches, getting increased speed out of them. The brown face of Wind Flower had assumed a dark, leaden hue, as wild emotions raged and burned in her heart. CHAPTER XXIII. THE FLIGHT OF THE FUGITIVES. That he might hasten along faster, and at the same time conceal his trail in the tracks made by horses that had passed, the crafty young chief soon left the rough and rocky hillsides, and entered the regular mountain highway that connected the town below with some of the mines above. This was the trail which Lena Forest used in making her infrequent visits to the town. And when she saw it, and knew that her captor was intending to enter it, her hopes rose again, and gave her renewed strength. Lightfoot was shrewd enough to know that since the Indian scare there was not much likelihood that any wayfarers would be encountered on that trail. What he feared were the men whom he believed to be following him--Buffalo Bill and his comrades, of whom Crazy Snake had told him, and against whom he had been warned. Lightfoot was light of foot, as his name indicated; in truth, he was a copper-colored Mercury, so fleet of foot and untiring was he. Fast as he could drive the horses on, he had no trouble in keeping at their heels.