“I’ve been in tight places ’fore this an’ squeezed through. Now, listen, if anything happens to me, jump on the horse and peg it fer help. If I get what I’m after, I’ll slip back and tell ye what to do.”
An hour later the two were picking their cautious way through the groves of the hidden nest of thieves. Within about two hundred yards of the place, they halted, and the old mountaineer began to steal alone closer to the den.
Fred watched him make his way stealthily into the brush and disappear. Then he listened and listened with straining ears for hours, it seemed, to catch the sound of his returning step, but he heard only the gentle chatter of the leaves, the squeaking of the wood mice, and the far-away call of the coyote, remarkably clear in the dangerous stillness of the night. Once he fancied he caught the sound of voices. He held his breath to hear, but the breeze swept away the sound. It may not have been fancy, however, for while the boy kept anxious watch, Nixon was giving his band of dusky followers their final instructions for the raid.
Another pair of eager ears caught not all, but enough of the plot that was being rehearsed that night in the shadow of the trees, to unravel the main thread of it. The old mountaineer, after a full hour of trying toil, had wormed his way within a few rods from the band, and there he lay, intent to catch every syllable of the rough English that Bud was using to instruct his followers. Flying Arrow interpreted the White Chief’s words into the Indian tongue to make sure they understood.
The old mountaineer stayed long enough to get clear the plot—almost too long indeed; for one Indian, leaving the band to look after his horse, walked within a step of the hidden listener. For a moment he feared discovery; but the Redskin went his way and returned none the wiser. Seizing his opportunity, the trapper turned and crept away, inch by inch, out of his dangerous place.
To Fred the time dragged into an age as he stood in the quiet darkness of the aspen grove. The moon had climbed high into the sky before the welcome sound of the soft returning step came. When it did, his tense feelings relaxed into sudden, half-painful relief.
“Oh, I’m glad you’re safe!”
“Quiet, boy,” responded Uncle Dave; “now, listen; they’ve planned a horse stealin’ raid. They’ll begin at Morgan’s ranch, then swing to the Bar B and on down the valley to the north. Jump on this horse and set out quiet but brisk to warn the settlers. Strike for Morgan’s first. They’ll git there long ’fore daybreak, I reckon. That won’t give the ranchers much time, but mebbe you kin gether enough agin they git there to scare ’em off. Here, swap weapons with me. That scatter gun o’ yours won’t be much use in an Injun fight.”
“But you may need it,” objected Fred.
“No, they’re not after me; I’ll be safe in my cabin. Now, go, and the Lord bless ye.”