On the whole, this struck Edwin as rather a curious proceeding. The Mohave had not deprived him of his gun, and did not even take the trouble to examine whether it was loaded or not, nor did he once look over his shoulder to see whether he was followed by the captive. It was a strong temptation to the latter to dart aside, and make another effort to get away, but he could hardly bring his mind to the “sticking point.”
As a matter of course, Edwin had strong hope of getting out of this difficulty, and he therefore paid strict attention to the route which they followed, so as not to be lost, when the opportunity should come to him. The Mohave literally took the “back track,” going over his own footsteps, and turning off from the stream at precisely the point where the boy first struck it.
As yet there was nothing seen of the other Indian, and the boy was wondering where he could have taken himself, when he made his appearance as suddenly as if he had risen from the very ground. He seemed to entertain the same constitutional objection to talking as did his predecessor, for not a word was exchanged between them. One walked in the front and the other in the rear of the boy, so that, for the present, he gave over all thoughts of taking abrupt leave of them.
The party passed directly by the remains of the antelope slain by Edwin, and so on until they reached the gorge where he had first descried the Mohaves as they were seated around the camp-fire. This led the boy to think that they were a part of those who had besieged them in the cave.
Whether this was a matter for congratulation or fear was more than he could determine, although it gave him hope that the captured Mohave might be among them, who he was sure would not forget the magnanimity shown him when he was at the mercy of those whom he sought to injure.
Nightfall was close at hand, and the party made their preparations for remaining on the old camping-ground of their former friends. They had a portion of the antelope with them, and offered a piece to Edwin, who accepted it more for the sake of pleasing them, than on account of any hunger he felt. After this, they seated themselves upon the ground, and motioned for him to do the same. Their pipes were then produced, and then began the longest and dreariest evening of Edwin Inwood’s life.
He lay on the ground, looking up at the stars, communing with the Great Being who dwelt beyond them, wondering what George and Jim thought of his prolonged absence, and speculating as to what the morrow would bring forth. Hour after hour wore away, and it was near midnight, when his ear detected a faint, regular jarring of the ground, and, raising his head, he saw through the gloom a party of men close at hand.