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.
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