All is fair in war as in love. Dearborn accepted the task.
"Can you spare your son?" asked Jim of Filditch, beside whom stood Leon.
"I would like to go with him, Jim. I want a good deal to see this young lady who was such a comfort to Rosa."
"Go along, then."
Into the fog dived the detachment—Dearborn, Filditch, and Leon; Cherokee Bill as conductor, and a few men.
The others concluded all preparations for the desperate fight.
But it was not till half after ten that the stubborn fog, torn and drifted away by the sun and one of those strong gales which sweep up a canyon so lofty at the sides, melted away like a playhouse gauze and unmasked the sunny landscape.
Spite of this theatrical discovery, no one betrayed himself. Never had the desert seemed more untroubled. An undisturbed calm soothed the majestic solitude, and yet many men, strangers to one another, were straining to fly at the throat with ferocious rage fur gains vaguely defined.
At this moment, a red scout leaped up among the hunters' pickets, with the sign of friendliness and that he was a Blood Indian.
"Well, brother?" demanded Ridge.