The sun had descended on the horizon, and darkness was invading the sky; ere long a dense veil of gloom was spread over the entire face of nature. The Indians seemed to have given up all idea of attacking the whites, but did not leave the riverbank; on the contrary, their number momentarily increased. On either bank of the Gila they had lit large fires, and put up their tents.
The situation of the fugitives was far from reassuring; sheltered on an island, whence they could not escape without being seen by their vigilant enemies, their provisions were reduced to a few handfuls of maize boiled in water, and a little pemmican. Their ammunition consisted of twenty charges of powder at the most.
The hunters lit no fire, for fear of letting the Apaches know the exact spot where they were; collected in the middle of the island in a dense thicket, they watched over Doña Clara, who, overwhelmed by the terrible emotions of the day, had yielded to sleep, and was lying on a bed of dry leaves.
Valentine and his friends watched the movements of the enemy by the light of their bivouac fires. Opposite the island, and round a fire larger than the rest, several chiefs, among whom Black Cat could be clearly distinguished, appeared engaged in a lively discussion. At length, two men rose and advanced slowly to the water's edge; on reaching it, they took off their buffalo robes, raised them above their heads, and let them float in the breeze.
"Do you see that?" Don Pablo said to Valentine. "The redskins wish to parley with us."
"What the deuce can they have to say to us?" the hunter answered; "the demons must know in what extremities we are."
"No matter. I fancy we shall do well by receiving them.
"What does Eagle-wing think of it?" Valentine asked the Coras, who, crouched near them with his head resting on the palms of his hands, was reflecting deeply.
"The Apaches are foxes without courage," the sachem answered; "let us hear what they want."
"And you, penni, what is your opinion?" the hunter said, turning to Curumilla.