“That’s quite right, my lad, but not what I meant. I meant the bows themselves.”
“Some very tough wood, I suppose, like the yew with which the English used to make bows.”
“Nay. Lots of them are made of horses’ or buffaloes’ ribs. They’re handy and short and tough. You know with what a whing they can send an arrow.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Chris thoughtfully.
“Didn’t you, now?” said Griggs mockingly. “I shouldn’t wonder if there are two or three more things that you haven’t found out yet. But, as I was saying, you ought to have been a dead one over that job, squire. The redskins meant you; but they got the worst of it. I say, though, I could teach you a-many things.”
“Well, you have taught me many things in shooting and fishing and hunting.”
“Well, yes, a few,” said the American coolly; “but they’re just about nothing to what you could teach me.”
“I?” cried Chris, staring at him in wonder. “Why, what could I teach you that you don’t know?”
“How to tumble over a cliff like that without doing yourself any worse damage than making a few scratches, tearing your jacket, and getting yourself full of dust.”
They had been tramping together across the head of the valley as they talked about their experiences, with Chris keeping a keen lookout ahead for the first glimpse of his father, and giving an occasional look up towards the edge of the cliff, which he noted was wonderfully broken up into hollows and prominences, rifts and gorges that had been invisible from a distance, and all overhung by a level band of apparently impassable rock. But during the last few minutes of their chat they had been so deeply interested that neither had glanced upward to their right, and the first warning they had of danger was given in a quick sharp shout in the doctor’s familiar voice.