"I am afraid you are making a mistake, George."
"It may be, but my judgment is against what you propose. Suppose that, at the moment of starting, they should appear on this side; they would run us down within a few hundred yards."
"Are not our ponies as fleet as theirs?"
"Probably; but with Dot to look after, you would have more than your hands full, and nothing could save us."
"I could manage her very well; but do as you think best. We can only pray to Heaven to protect us all."
Looking to the westward, the rancher saw the pack-pony just vanishing from sight in the gloom. Brief as was the time that he had left the Sioux without watching, he felt that it had been too long, and he now made his way up the swell until he could peer over at the other bank, where the red men were awaiting the very chance he gave them that moment.
The narrowest escape of his life followed. Providentially, his first glance was directed at the precise spot where a crouching Sioux made a slight movement with his rifle, which gave the white man an instant's warning of his peril. He ducked his head, and had he not instinctively closed his eyes, would have been blinded by the dust and snow thrown against his face, as the leaden ball whizzed through the air, falling on the prairie a long distance away.
In its flight it passed directly over the heads of the wife and child, who noticed the peculiar whistling sound a few feet above them. But they were as safe from such danger as if a mile away. The swell of the bank would not allow any missile to come nigh enough to harm them.
"Don't be frightened," he said, with a reassuring smile, "they can't touch you as long as they are on the other side."
"But how long will they stay there?" asked the wife, unable to repress her uneasiness over the tardiness of her husband.