“Oh yes, we shall, Joses,” said Bart, merrily. “Wait a bit, and you will see that the Indians can be beaten off as easily as possible, and they’ll soon be afraid to attack us when they find how strong we are. Perhaps they’ll be glad to make friends. Now, come and have a look round.”
Joses obeyed his young leader, shouldering his rifle, and following him in a surly, ill-used sort of way, resenting everything that was introduced to his notice as being poor and unsatisfactory.
“Glad to see trees up here, Master Bart,” he said, as the lad made a remark, by a patch whose verdure was a pleasant relief to the eye after the glare from the bare rock. “I don’t call them scrubs of things trees. Why, a good puff of wind would blow them off here and down into the plain.”
“Then why hasn’t a good puff of wind blown them off and down into the plain?” said Bart.
“Why haven’t they been blown off—why haven’t they been blown off, Master Bart? Well, I suppose because the wind hasn’t blowed hard enough.”
Bart laughed, and they went on along the edge of the tremendous cliff till they came above the canyon, down into which Bart, never seemed weary of gazing. For the place had quite a fascination for him, with its swift, sparkling river, beautiful wooded islands, and green and varied shores. The sides of the place, too, were so wondrously picturesque; here were weather-stained rocks of fifty different tints; there covered with lovely creepers, hanging in festoons or clinging close to the stony crevices that veined the rocky face in every direction. The shelves and ledges and mossy nooks were innumerable, and every one, even at that great height, wore a tempting look that drew the lad towards it, and made him itch to begin the exploration.
“What a lovely river, Joses!” he cried.
“Lovely? Why, it’s one o’ those sand rivers. Don’t you ever go into it if we get down there; you’d be sucked into the quicksands before you knew where you were. I don’t think much of this place, Master Bart.”
“I do,” cried the lad, stooping to pick up a rough fragment of stone, and then, as it was long and thin, breaking it against the edge of a piece of rock, when the newly-fractured end shone brightly in the sun with a metallic sheen.
“Why, there is plenty of silver up here, Joses,” he said, examining the stone intently. “This is silver, is it not?”