But, of a sudden, they brought up and retreated, tripping back upon one another over rubble and bowlder, and giving out startled oaths. Then they halted, a score of dim, crowding figures.
Beyond the Throat showed a patch of sky, swiftly brightening with the dawn. Against that patch, thrust up by a ragged arm, was a twirling gun.
There was a parley, while the oaths became a jumble of protests, haranguing, and threats.
Presently Standing Buffalo could be heard above the rest. "They are only women. Let us take them and be on!"
At this, all started forward, but warily. As sudden as before, they stopped.
Against the light, for a second time, a ragged arm had shot up. Now at its top was a sinew-backed bow.
The Indians were amazed. One of their kind defending the women? They snorted in rage.
As they jostled, stretching this way and that, the arm began slowly to brandish the bow, and in a manner to announce that the holder desired single combat.
Standing Buffalo went forward in a bound. "I clear the way," he cried vauntingly to his brothers; to the one before, "Who fears? Come out." He loosened the arrows in his quiver.
The challenger came—a stooping figure in squaw's dress.