The train had reached the bend in the river where Abe had decided to camp, and was preparing supper when the guide overtook them.
The emigrants had heard the shots, and, under Dave’s direction, had prepared for attack.
The “Crow-Killer” was surrounded by eager questioners when he dismounted.
In a few words he told the emigrants that they were in danger of an attack every moment, but that beyond a doubt they could easily beat off the savages. The old guide was a shrewd judge of human nature; by the time he got through his little speech, he had fully persuaded his companions that they were more than a match for the Indians. So the emigrants partook of their supper cheerfully, and then made preparations for the night.
The Hickmans, father and son, were talking earnestly apart from the rest.
“Well, father,” asked Dick, “have you decided what to do?”
“Yes,” answered the old man, “I’ll fix it to-night. We have got to get her from the wagon some way, for we can never attempt to put her out of the way with Mrs. Grierson and her daughter with her in the wagon. We must think of some plan to get her out.”
“I’ve got an idea. The guides, you know, say that we’ll be attacked to-night. Now, the moment the Indians commence the attack, I’ll set fire to the wagon-covering; I’ll wet it first with whisky, then it will burn like mad; of course the women will be frightened out; then you’ll have a chance to fix Miss Leona. What do you think of the idea?” asked the son.
“There couldn’t be any thing better,” replied the father, rubbing his hands with delight.
“Well, ’tain’t a bad idea and it’s very simple; so you just keep your eyes open and watch your chance.”