“We need not discuss the matter further, eh, Wilton?” said the doctor, turning to the young man, who had crouched close by, watching the spot where the Indians had disappeared.
“No. It’s all cut and dried,” said the young man quietly. “Be off, Bourne; you’re going to have the best of it.”
“That father isn’t,” said Ned sharply. “I don’t think it’s fair. Let Chris go. I want to stop and fight.”
“Nay, nay, nay,” said Griggs, smiling; “don’t be greedy, lad. You’ve killed quite as many redskins to-day as is good for you. Be satisfied. I dare say we can contrive a bit more fighting for you by and by.”
“He may have all my share,” said Chris, screwing up his face. “I hate it. It’s horrible.”
“Obey orders,” said the doctor, smiling. “Bourne, will you get off at once?”
“Yes,” was the reply.
“And you, boys. I don’t think any eyes can reach us, for we get no more arrows now; but all the same, I would not show. Crawl down to the bottom; you will be safe from all observation there, and you can rise and walk as soon as you are past the first curve. Till we meet again.”
“Till we meet again,” said Bourne and Ned in a breath, and they began to crawl down the far side of the gulch from where they had made their defence.
“As for you, my boy,” continued the doctor, “you will bring the ponies down, following the mules, and coming to a halt at that spring by the big needle-like stone. There’s some browsing for them there.”