At last we were close to Esau, who was waiting anxiously with the rifle in his hand, ready to thrust it into Gunson’s.
“Indians, eh?” said the latter, as we now saw what had been hidden from us by the shape of the valley—a group of half a dozen spear-armed Indians, who drew back a little and stood watching us on seeing the accession made by our crossing to the group by the fire.
Gunson did not hesitate. He took the rifle, and felt whether his revolver was ready to his hand before walking straight up to the group, making signs intended to be friendly. They had their effect, for the men came forward, one of them holding out a freshly-opened salmon as a token of good-will.
That was enough for Quong, who ran forward smiling, whilst Gunson tried the men with such Indian words as he could remember. But it was all in vain. They gave up the great fish to the Chinaman quietly enough, and stood staring at us in a stolid way, till our leader took out his tobacco-pouch and gave each a good pinch. They were friends directly; and now by signs Gunson tried to make them understand that he wanted to go through the canon, and that he would give them a present if they would guide us.
“I can’t make them understand, my lad,” he said at last.
“But I think they do understand,” I said. “Let’s shoulder our packs, and see if they will lead the way.”
“Must be going our way,” said Esau, “because they overtook us.”
“Well, let’s try,” said Gunson; and in a couple of minutes we were standing loaded, Gunson pointing up the gorge.
One of the Indians showed his teeth, said a few words to his companions, and they all faced round, and began to lead the way back.
“No, no,” I shouted, and I pointed up the gorge, when the leading Indian smiled and went on again.