“Hark!”
“I swan if I didn’t run my chin over a limb that time, and it nearly sawed my neck off.”
“Keep your mouth shet or you’ll spile the whole game. Hello! there’s somebody here. That you, Wainwright?”
“Yes; I am here, Ward, all right.”
“And the gal?”
“Is with me.”
“Good for you! you’re a trump—hello!”
At this instant, a succession of yells was heard from the direction of the Apache camp, proclaiming that Cherouka had come to his senses, and the redskins were at work.
“Let ’em yell,” muttered the guide, as he noticed some trepidation among those around him, “what can they do?”
“But they may get torches—that is, as it were,—and follow us,” ventured Mr. Swipes, “but, Miss Brandon, allow me to congratulate you on your successful escape from the Indians.”