Inch by inch they threaded their painful way along the ground; careful to rearrange the branches they had disturbed upon entering; and cutting with their knives a little tunnel ahead. Finally in the thickest of the patch they lay companionably on the warm, dry ground within whispering distance of each other, and lapped in delicious fragrance. Themselves concealed, they could see out more or less through interstices between the leaves.
“One could fall asleep here, and dream of being in Paradise,” said Loseis, sniffing.
“Yes,” said Conacher, disengaging a thorn; “and roll over and find one’s self in the other place!”
They both dozed, and were awakened simultaneously by the sound of thudding hoofs. They waited with fast-beating hearts. A dark-skinned horseman rode into view along the top of the very rise against whose side they lay. He was less than a hundred yards away; they could distinguish every detail of his somewhat dandified dress.
“Watusk,” whispered Loseis.
At sight of the patch of scrub, the Cree reined up his horse, and sat staring directly at them. It caused the goose-flesh to rise upon their bodies; their hearts seemed to stop beating. With infinite caution Conacher drew his gun into position.
“The horse first; then his rider,” he whispered.
But after debating a moment, the Cree clapped heels to his horse, and rode on. Presently he disappeared. A long breath of thankfulness escaped from the two hidden ones.
“He will never know how nearly his wife became a widow,” said Conacher.
“Well, they’ve checked this place off,” said Loseis. “Shall we stay here?”