"That's what comes from overconfidence," grinned the lad.
"I wish I had something to defend myself with," he added after a pause.
Tad had no sooner expressed his wish, than his fingers closed over some object on the ground. He grasped it with about the same hopefulness that a dying man will grasp at a straw.
What he had found was a heavy tent stake, one that Kris Kringle had dropped from his bundle on the way to the cliff dweller's home.
The lad breathed a prayer of thankfulness and crept on with renewed courage.
He proceeded as far as he dared; then, lay still, listening for the noise of the expected conflict between the guide and the other red man.
It came. The sound was like that of a body falling heavily.
Once more the Indian at the table turned his head, listening inquiringly. He made a half motion to rise, glanced at the table, then sat down again and began to eat.
"His appetite has overcome his judgment," grinned Tad. The lad could hear the faint sound of conflict somewhere to the rear of him. He was getting uneasy and began to fidget.
All at once the red man sprang up, starting on a run, trailing Stacy's rifle behind him. He was headed directly for the place where Tad lay flattened on the ground, though the lad felt sure his enemy did not see him.