“Horrid, father,” whispered Ned, as if he felt that Indians might be listening.
“And you, Chris?” continued Bourne.
“I feel as if I shall be glad when it’s to-morrow and we know the worst.”
“Or the best, my boy,” said the doctor cheerily. “There, I think we might start now. The moon has set, and we have a long dark night before us for our work. What do you say, Griggs? Ready?”
“And willing, sir. I go first, don’t I?”
“Yes, with Chris as advance-guard. You know the signal if the Indians are coming on to an attack—one shot each, and then you stand fast to give us time to start the train back before coming to your support.”
“Yes, sir; it’s all cut deep into me, but I don’t think we shall have any trouble there.”
“I hope not,” said the doctor.
Within half-an-hour from these words being spoken the little baggage-train was in motion, dimly-seen beneath the band of stars overhead. These stood out strongly marked against the edge of the black cliffs on either side towering up and seeming to the excited imagination of the two lads double their real height, and overhanging more and more as the valley sides gradually closed in towards the mouth of the gulch.
Chris suffered from a peculiar sense of excitement and dread of attack, as he and Griggs rode cautiously on through the darkness, each with his rifle cocked and resting upon his knee, straining his eyes the while for the first sign of danger. And it was during this ride that the boy began to wonder whether the eyesight of the Indians was much better than their own, for he soon found that once more he was obliged to leave out any attempt at guidance and trust entirely to his pony.