“Why did you permit him to go?”
“Good heavens! I didn’t permit it; the first thing I knew, I seen him jump out of the wagon and start up the hill. Didn’t I try to stop him when he was after the red devil with his canteen, and what good did it do?”
“It seems to me that it would be so easy for him to run directly to his death.”
“So it would, and for that matter, it would be powerful easy for any of us to do the same; but he’s about to the top of the gulch,” added the captain, turning away to watch his progress.
Such was the case, and every voice was now hushed, and every eye was fixed upon Rodman, as he slackened his gait, and, stooping down, made his way as stealthily to the top of the declivity as the most veteran scout could have done.
When he should reach there and look around, all knew that he would give a signal which, indeed, would be that of life or death to them.
They marked him as he crept on his hands and knees to the very top, and then, removing his cap, peered over. Then he rose partly to his feet and turned his head in different directions, and just as the trembling whites were beginning to take heart again, he suddenly wheeled about, and came running down the gulch like a madman, waving his hand and shouting something to his friends which was incomprehensible from his very excitement.
“Back to the wagon, every one of you!” commanded Captain Shields, turning to the women. “Don’t wait a second! That means that the Comanches are coming! To your stations, boys, and let us die like men!”