Our Christmas party

by Edwin Hodder

Quito bounded across the dry bed of the river for his life, and reached the opposite bank only a few seconds before the rushing torrent swept by, leaving a very chaos on its surging breast.

Fetching his breath quickly, the Indian turned and gazed long in solemn silence at the magnificent scene. Then the thought of Laughing-eye recurred to him. He turned at once and pursued his way with redoubled speed.

Only a few miles above this spot he discovered the cause of the phenomenon he had just witnessed. A land-slip, on an unusually large scale, had occurred. It had been caused by the water undermining the soil of a high bank. The half of a huge hill had tumbled into the river and dammed it across, so that no water could escape. Trees were heaped in wild confusion—some with their heads in the earth and their roots in the air; piles of stones and rubbish crushed the shattered limbs, and great fissures yawned everywhere in the mass.

Ere long the searching water had cut through the obstruction, and, bursting away in all the strength of its recovered freedom, had produced the startling results which we have described.

Day after day Quito followed the trail of his enemies, and night after night he lay down on the hard ground to snatch a couple of hours’ repose before resuming the chase, regardless of fatigue or cold, for hope steeled his muscles, and his heart was warmed by love.

At last, one evening he came upon them. He saw their wigwams on a little plain, which was free from shrubs and trees, although surrounded by the latter. The smoke of their fires curled up in straight columns, for the air was so still that the sound of the horses’ jaws munching their food could be distinctly heard at some distance from the camp.

Quito lay down until the shades of night fell, and watched his enemies. He saw them post sentries for the night; he noted the silence that gradually stole over the scene as the savages lay down to rest, and he saw the fires die down until the whole camp was shrouded in darkness. During the hours that he watched there he lay as still as a fallen tree—only his dark eyes moved about, restlessly.

At last he rose and prepared for action. Leaving his quiver and bow behind him, he took his gun and advanced—at first in a crouching attitude. He might have been a shadow, so noiseless were his motions. The edge of the forest gained, he sank into the long grass of the prairie, like a phantom, and disappeared. Thenceforth his progress was like to that of the serpent. Pushing his gun before him he gradually worked his way forward until he had passed the line of sentries and gained the midst of the camp. Here his proceedings were cool and daring.

He first crawled among the horses, and made up his mind as to which two of them were the best. Then he went to the chief’s tent, and, gently raising the curtain of skin, looked in. His enemy was there sound asleep. He could have stabbed him to the heart, as he lay, with such deadly certainty, that he would have died without being able to utter a cry, but Quito’s object was to rescue, not to avenge. He observed that the chief lay alone in his tent. A grim smile crossed the Indian’s face as he lowered the curtain and again sank among the grass.