“One word first. My poor pony came down into the valley where I fell, but you don’t think the Indians could bring their beasts down that way, do you?”
“I’m sure they couldn’t,” said Griggs, working the cleaning-rod up and down one of the barrels.
“I feel sure too,” said Chris. “But do you think they could get them out again that way—I mean, out through the head of the valley?”
“And I’m sure of that,” said Griggs. “They couldn’t unless they taught ’em how to fly.”
“Why, of course not,” said Ned scornfully. “You know it too. Why do you ask?”
“Only because I wanted to make sure,” replied Chris, “and because it has something to do with my plan.”
Griggs left off pumping and squirting water, laid the barrel across his knees with his hands resting upon the former, and gazed thoughtfully in the boy’s face, while Ned seemed influenced by his companion’s manner and sat perfectly silent.
“You know I went to watch for the coming of the Indians?”
“Yes,” said Griggs.
“And I passed by that rough jagged pillar of rock which was of a great height, in the middle of that very narrow part of the gulch. I mean where the rocks close in on both sides and overhang so that it seems dangerous to walk under them for fear they should fall.”