Pst! from close at hand, so close to him that the boy started as if he had been stung.
“Father!” he whispered.
“Good lad. Not a word. Are the ponies saddled and bridled?”
“Yes, father.”
“Right. Now, Griggs—Wilton; take two each, and lead on. Walk with them for the present, and as quietly as you can go. We’ll follow close behind.”
No further words were spoken, but there was the sound of hoofs passing over the stony bottom of the gulch, and the next minute Chris and his father, each leading his pony, were walking together side by side, the animals stepping instinctively in the footprints of those in front, and, saving for the faint sound of tramping, the silence seemed to the boy perfectly awful.
At last Chris could keep back a question no longer.
“The firing, father—I heard two volleys. Were the savages coming on?”
“No, but we treated them as if they were, just to show them that we were waiting for an attack, and then came on to join you at once. Now, no more talking; I want to listen till they announce that they are there.”
“Will they?” whispered Chris.