"Wall, I'm jist thinkin' about it. We might creep down upon 'em, an' pick 'em off. But I don't want to do that. It 'ud stir up the hull tribe if we knocked out them two bucks. Then, we might wait till it gits dark, steal upon 'em, an' pinch the lad. But mebbe they intend to git on over the lake, an' we'd be out of it fer sure then. They ginerally keep a canoe handy. No, them plans won't work. But I've another. We must git the men away. It's fer me to do that, an' it's up to you to look after the boy. See?"
"Partly. But how?"
"You leave that to me. I'm goin' up around the lake to the right, an' you jist creep up close like, whar them varmints are squattin'. Be very cautious or ye might spile the hull thing. But when ye see the men leave the kid with the woman, then you drop in like a whirlwind an' do the rest. When ye git the kid hike back to this place, an' wait fer me. But if the bucks git here fust, cast off, an' I'll meet ye down-stream. If it comes to a fight, yer a match fer the hull consarn. I'm off now."
Left to himself Grey stood for a few minutes looking down upon the water. He was realising how dependent he was upon this rugged frontier trapper. He had imagined that his own strength of mind, nerve and body was sufficient to overcome almost any difficulty. In the vicinity of Big Glen it had sufficed. But here where the vast wilderness was the stage, with rushing rivers, foaming rapids, wind-swept lakes, sweeping plains and towering mountains, the setting, and dare-devil white men and roving Indians the chief actors, it was altogether different.
At length he turned, and walked along the bank of the river up toward the lake. There was no footpath here, and he found travelling most difficult. But he considered it safer than on the trail higher up. Slowly and warily he picked his way, taking care not to make the slightest noise to warn the natives of his approach. At times he paused and listened, but hearing nothing he advanced. Ere long, after pushing his way through a tangled thicket of underbrush, the lake burst suddenly into view. One glance was sufficient, and Grey dropped quickly to his knees, and crouched behind a low scrubby bush. There on the shore, only a few rods away, were the Indians, squatting about their camp fire. He counted them—two men, one woman, and something lying on the ground, which no doubt was the stolen child.
Grey's right hand pressed firmly his smooth rifle barrel as he peered down upon that group. How he longed to pick off those two dusky braves. Two quick reports and the deed would be done. He could deal with the woman; he had no doubt of that. But another voice soon silenced this blood-thirsty desire. "Coward," it whispered, "would you shoot them down without giving them a chance? You call yourself a man. You a member of a famous Force, and would you stain its honourable annals with such a contemptible deed?"
At that instant a sound broke upon the still evening air. It came from the right, around the curve in the lake. It was the hoarse cry of a moose calling to its mate. Again it came, clearer than before.
The effect of that call acted like magic upon the two Indian bucks. Seizing their rifles they glided to a canoe lying upon the shore, shoved it off, and leaped in. With noiseless paddle dips they sped swiftly over the still waters, keeping well within the dark fringe-like shadow, which was growing larger and larger as the evening waned.
"How strange," Grey murmured to himself, "that such a thing should happen at the right moment."