“The most effective action yet,” said the doctor hoarsely, as the reloading ended.
“Yes, sir, I think that’s best,” responded Griggs.
“But such a sickening slaughter of the poor ignorant wretches,” cried Bourne bitterly.
“That’s what I used to think when I was first up in the Rockies, sir,” said Griggs coolly, “till I had been about a bit, and seen where the redskins up there had been amongst the settlers’ ranches. Pleasant homes burned down, and men, women, and children lying where they had been murdered and cut about—people who had been living hopeful lives, hard workers whose only crime against the Indians was trying to get a living out of a few acres instead of by hunting and war. I used to feel just as you do, Mr Bourne; but I don’t now.”
“I know, I know,” cried Ned’s father passionately; “but they are so ignorant of our power.”
“Yes, sir, but we’re not of theirs,” replied Griggs. “Now, doctor, they’re drawing off. Had enough of it for one day, and it’s time to be stirring.”
“What, retreat?”
“Not yet, sir. Here’s my idea. They’ll wait till it’s dark, attack us then with knives and tomahawks, coming on silently, leaving their horses behind, and we shan’t have a chance.”
“Then what do you propose?” said the doctor.
“Just this, sir, if you can’t see a better way. We three stop here, ready to have a shot at any Indian who shows himself, while Mr Bourne, young squire, and Chris go off to the mules and horses.”