"A bird could scarcely have found footing."
"Then how in ther name of common sense did yer do it?"
"I-ron-yah-tek-ha (using her uncouth Indian name, though the scout always did the interpretation of "Burning Cloud," or more commonly, "Cloud,") was watching the pale-face who had been kind to her—followed as he ran—saw him when he fell, and as soon as the braves disappeared, she made a strong line of deer-skin, looped it about a tree above, clambered down and drew it after her."
"It was bravely done, Cloud—bravely done."
"Then she fastened him so that he would not fall, cut away the limb that held him like a wolf in a trap, lowered him down and dragged him to this spot, thanking the Manitou that he was not dead."
"But most mighty near to it, I kin tell yer. And I must have had a hard time on it, fer my huntin'-shirt and leggins am clean tore off."
"They are hanging still in the tree-top," replied the squaw, with a low and musical laugh.
"Hangin' in the tree-top! What in thunder am they thar fer, I'd like ter know?"
"The eyes of the red-man are like those of the lynx, and his cunning that of the serpent."
"Oho!" and the laugh that followed, even though the ever-cautious one of a trapper, made him fairly groan with pain, so sore was he in every muscle. "Ha! ha! I see it all now. Yer knew ef yer didn't fool 'em in that manner, they would bin erlookin' eround ter see what had become of me, fer it wasn't likely I'd rot and fall ter pieces so soon."