The police had taken down their white flag. He could see the inspector glance at his watch from time to time. Wondering messengers came from the other pits presumably to find out the reason of the inaction, to whom Watusk returned evasive replies.
Bound and gagged as he was, it was anything but an easy time for Ambrose. He had the poor satisfaction of seeing that Watusk was more uneasy than himself.
To a discerning eye the Indian leader was suffering visible torments.
Egerton, the wily old Indian fighter, knew his man.
If he had made the slightest move to provoke a conflict, raged, threatened, fired a gun, the savage nature would instantly have reacted, and it would have all been over in a few moments. But to laugh and light a cigarette! Watusk was rendered impotent by a morale beyond his comprehension.
The longest half hour has only thirty minutes. Inspector Egerton looked at his watch for the last time and spoke to his men. The policemen caught their horses, and without any appearance of haste, tightened girths and mounted.
They commenced to move slowly through the grass in the track of Watusk's party, spreading out wide in open formation. The inspector was in the center of the line. He carried no arms. His men were still joking and laughing.
They commenced to mount the hill, walking their horses, and sitting loosely in their saddles. Each trooper had his reins in one hand, his rifle barrel in the other, with the butt of the weapon resting on his thigh.
They were coming straight for the rifle pit; no doubt they had marked the bushes masking it. Ambrose saw that they were young men, slim-waisted and graceful. The one on the right end had lost his hat through some accident. He had fair hair that caught the sun.
This was the critical moment. The fate of the nineteen boys and their white-haired leader hung by a hair. Ambrose held his breath under the gag. A cry, an untoward movement would have caused an immediate slaughter.
The Indians' eyes glittered, their teeth showed, they fingered their rifles. A single word from their leader would have sufficed. Watusk longed to speak it, and could not. The sweat was running down his yellow-gray face.