“Begorrah, but that’s a swate relief, as me Aunt Bridget obsarved, when her ould man.”
A turn of the head, and an impatient gesture from the scout, silenced Mickey before he had time to complete the remark. He subsided instantly, and began a debate with himself as to whether he ought not to apologize for his forgetfulness, but he concluded to wait.
The long, lank figure of Sut Simpson looked as if it was a shadow slowly stealing along the dark face of the rock, followed by that of Mickey and the lad. They were as silent as phantoms, each walking as tenderly and carefully as though he was a burglar breaking into the house of some sleeping merchant, whose slumbers were as light as down. Mickey had no doubt that this was continued twice as long as necessary, although he conscientiously strove to carry out the wishes of the scout in that respect. He stumbled once or twice, but that was because of the treacherous nature of the ground.
They must have journeyed fully a quarter of a mile in this fashion before Sut held up in the least. During all this time, so far as Mickey could judge, nothing had been seen or heard of the Apaches, who, supposedly, would have guarded the outlet, in which the two had taken refuge, with a closeness that could not have permitted such an escape; but not one had been encountered.
It was a most extraordinary occurrence all through, and Mickey found it hard to understand how one man, skilled and brave though he was, could perform such a herculean task, for there could be no doubt that to him, under Providence, belonged the exclusive credit. Of course it was Sut who had fired the shot that saved Fred from a terrible death by the grizzly bear, and his well aimed and opportune shots had done the fugitives inestimable service when they were crouching in the fissure and despairing of all hope. But there must have been something back of all this. The scout must have possessed a greater power, which had not become manifest to his friends as yet.
“Now yer can walk with more ease,” he said, as he dropped back beside his companions; “but, at the same time, don’t talk too loud. Let us all keep as much in the shadder as we kin, for there may be other varmints around, and there’s no telling when you’re likely to run agin ’em.”
“But where are the spalpeens that shut us up in that split in the rocks?”
“They’re all behind us, every varmint of them, and thar they’re likely to stay for awhile; but, Mickey, I want yer to tell me what happened arter we parted among these mountains, and took different routes far the younker here.”
The Irishman related his experience in as brief a manner as possible, the scout listening with a great deal of interest, and asking a question or two.
“The luck was yer’s,” he said, when the narrator concluded, “of gettin’ on the right track, while I got on the wrong.”