“Mine.”
“I didn’t hear you speak.”
“It wasn’t necessary—a sign was sufficient. No, you’d be taking a foolhardy risk to——”
The sentence was cut short by a storm of shouts and exclamations coming from the head of the column, farther down the trail. A pack-horse, stumbling, had fallen from the narrow path into a deep ravine. The tumult raised by the savages frightened several others of the beasts of burden; and they whirled and came flying back up the trail. These in turn stampeded others still—and the whole swept the narrow way like an avalanche.
Ross Douglas heard and understood all. In the panic that was sure to ensue he saw a chance to escape. To right and to left sprang the warriors. Ross loosened the knife in his belt, firmly gripped his rifle, and was ready to dart away in the darkness.
“Quick!” shouted Bradford. “Let’s scramble up this bank. Quick—or we shall be trampled to death!”
Grabbing Douglas by the arm, he sought to drag him in that direction. But the younger man held back. The thunderous roar of the galloping horses drew nearer. They turned a sharp bend in the road and loomed into view. In the gloom they resembled a rapidly approaching thundercloud. Tenskwatawa’s black steed neighed wildly and, taking the bit in his teeth, whirled and dashed away. The gray pony crouched in its tracks and trembled. Douglas jerked loose from his companion’s restraining grasp and leaped toward the brink of the ravine on the right, intending to drop into the depths. But at that moment La Violette’s shrill scream of affright smote upon his ear. Abandoning all idea of escape, forgetting his own danger—everything, he threw down his gun and sprang to her assistance.
“My God!” groaned Bradford, staggering toward a place of safety. “Both will be killed! In my excitement I didn’t think of her. Too late—too late!”
Reaching the bank on the left, he sank upon the ground and covered his face with his hands.