“Yes, indeed. I tell you, my lad, I never passed such a bad half-hour before in my life. We could see every movement, except when you galloped out of sight. It all stood out like a picture against the clear morning sky, while there we were nearly all the time, afraid to shoot because we were more likely to hit you than the enemy. My word, I felt bad enough, but it was just horrible for the doctor.”
“Poor father!” said Chris.
“You may well say that, my lad. P’r’aps you don’t know it, but he thinks a deal of you, my lad.”
“Why, of course,” cried Chris.
“Very foolish of him, I suppose, but then he don’t know you so well as I do. He’s prejudiced, you see.”
“I suppose so,” said Chris.
“My word, he did take on when he saw the mustang come over the cliff and drag you after it!”
“Don’t talk about it,” cried Chris with a shudder.
“Why not? I think it was very fine now. We were a bit worried at first, and the doctor couldn’t shoot at all for some time; but as soon as we heard you begin to pop and the redskins came down, we nearly went mad with joy. I saw, though he didn’t say much out loud, but I just caught sight of his lips moving now and then; and the way he shot afterwards—I don’t believe he made a miss. I say, the redskins were soon tired of showing their faces over the edge of the cliff. But, my word, Chris, lad, you had a narrow escape!”
“Several,” said Chris, smiling.