Instead of keeping along this path, in the same direction as that of his enemies, he turned about and advanced to meet the red men who had dared to come that way. He walked with his usual noiseless step, and stopped on reaching the edge of the ravine over which he had leaped when it crossed his path only a few minutes before.
This gully was more than twenty feet in depth, and about half as wide. The trail led to the edge on one side, continuing on the margin directly opposite, so that any one who wished to keep to it was perforce compelled to leap the chasm—a slight task for any Indian, though it would have been easy to make a bridge by means of a fallen tree.
The moon was now directly overhead, so that a flood of light fell into the craggy ravine, lighting up the gray rocks and bowlders, the prostrate trees that had fallen from the sides, the vegetation along the slopes and the mossy grass that had been watered by the torrents when they roared through. The trees grew rank and close to the edge at the top—so close that some of them had slidden off and fallen part way below, carrying the gravel, sand and earth with the prong-like roots part way to the bottom.
So faint was the mark of the trail opposite that even with the help of the moonbeams, it took an eye as keen as that of Deerfoot to tell where his enemies would appear. But he coolly awaited them, though his calmness was the fearful calm of a fury such as even he rarely knew.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE DEFIANCE.
The expression of the face of Deerfoot was terrible. The whole fury of his nature was at white heat. He knew that the two Winnebagos had set out to commit a fearful crime, and it was his work to stay their hands. There was but the single way in which they could be stayed.
The young Shawanoe kept back a couple of paces from the edge of the ravine, where the shadow of the stunted trees above would hide him from his foes when they should come in sight. He held his gun pointed and cocked. Though his passion had the glow of the furnace, he was as calm as death.