"Just beyond that," he said to himself, as he fixed his eyes upon the elevation, "Tom tells me is Fort Havens, where father is waiting for me. If he only knew we were here, he might come to our relief. Wouldn't he scatter the redskins down there? But I don't know how he will find it out. Oh! if we were only among those mountains, it wouldn't take us long to go the rest of the way. I suppose the fort can be seen from their top."
To the south, a stratum of yellow vapor stretched for forty degrees along the horizon. There were no buffaloes there, but there had been, and it was the evidence of their passage. To the north, the view was broken by ridges, patches of wood, and curious irregularities of surface, but there was no sign of life among all, nor could it be detected except by peering over the edge of Hurricane Hill down upon the assembled besiegers below. He noticed that Tom Hardynge, shading his eyes with his hand, was gazing off with a fixed intensity in the direction of the mountains which intervened between them and Fort Havens. He said nothing, but there was a significance in his persistency which aroused the curiosity of the lad in no small degree. Could it be that his keen vision detected something tangible toward the setting sun, which was hidden from view by the mountain range? Or was it the mere searching for something upon which to hang his hopes?
Dick Morris was very differently occupied, acting, indeed, as if unaware that anyone else was upon the hill-top besides himself. Crawling to the edge, he was stretched out flat upon his face, his hat removed, while he peered stealthily downward upon the crowd below. Probably, he, too, was searching for something or somebody. There was so much meaning in his actions that the interest of the lad centered upon him, and he watched every motion.
The hunter fidgeted around for a few minutes, as if his posture was not exactly comfortable, and then hastily projecting his gun over the margin, he took a quick aim and fired, and then flinging the weapon aside, looked down again to see the result. All at once, he sprang to his feet, and stamped back toward the center of the plateau, in a terrific rage.
"Ain't it awful!" he exclaimed, adding a forcible expletive. "Did I ever make a bigger mistake?"
"What do you mean, Dick?"
"Hit the wrong skunk."
"How is that?" asked Tom, turning toward him.
"I've been figuring around for half an hour so as to draw a bead on Lone Wolf, and just as I pulled the trigger, I found I'd hit the wrong one. It's trying to one's feelings to be disappointed that way."
"I don't b'leve you'll get a chance at him," said Tom, as he seated himself and resumed his patient scrutiny of the western horizon.