The whole party dashed forward, but were just in time to see the rescuer of Fall-leaf spring from the rock and commence his rapid descent down the rugged pathway. A volley was fired after him, but without effect.
"But where is that red-skin?" asked Price. "He is not with that fellow, and I saw him standing upon that rock but a moment since."
"He may be concealed in some of the crevices in the ledge," replied one of the party.
Search was instantly made. In a few moments one of the aids cried:
"He is here! surround the rock—he cannot escape!"
Near the summit of the cliff there was a large oak tree, which at one time had been standing erect, but from lack of soil to secure its roots, had gradually settled down until its tops were some thirty or forty feet below its roots. It hung over a frightful precipice of over one hundred feet. Directly below grew a large tree, whose tops reached within fifteen or twenty feet of the declined oak's branches.
The Indian finding himself thus surrounded, did not hesitate an instant. On one side was the precipice—on all other sides, the infuriated soldiery, thirsting for his blood.
Quick as thought he sprang for the oak. Down its body and branches he ran, like a squirrel skipping from twig to twig.
"Fire!" shouted Price.
"Our pieces have all been discharged at the other spy. We must load."