THE Shoshones instantly stopped and one of them uttered an exclamation. It was easy for them to tell the direction from whence the unexpected sound had come, and all stood peering into the gloom, bows tightly grasped and hands ready to draw their arrows from the quivers and launch them at the instant demanded.
Victor was so incensed with Zigzag that he was tempted to send a bullet through his brain, but restrained himself. He whispered to George at his side:
“Don’t stir or speak, but be ready to shoot!”
His intention was to fire upon the Shoshones if they advanced upon them. Such an advance undoubtedly would have been made, for the hostiles could not have been aware of the real danger of it, but it was prevented by the unexpected appearance of the Blackfoot, who came hurrying down the pass on foot, and called to the Shoshones in their own tongue. The strangers immediately turned their attention to him, and the boys, from their covert, had the singular spectacle presented of a single warrior in seemingly friendly converse with five who were believed to be enemies.
“I don’t understand what he means,” whispered George; “do you?”
“Haven’t any idea, but it looks as if there’s going to be a fight. If it comes, you take the one to the left and I’ll drop him on the right; we mustn’t waste our bullets.”
“That will leave Mul-tal-la with three to fight.”
“But won’t we take a hand? We must jump right into it. After we have wiped them all out, I think I’ll knock Zigzag in the head—confound him! He’s to blame for all this.”
“Don’t be hasty, Victor. If Mul-tal-la needs our help he’ll call to us; he must know we are ready and won’t fail him.”
Meanwhile the Blackfoot was holding a talk with the five Shoshones, who made up the entire party. It seemed strange that a struggle did not open at once, but it may have been because the hostiles were ignorant of the force hiding beside the trail and holding them under their guns. An Indian, no more than a white man, likes to engage in a contest with a foe whose strength is unknown.