In planning for the hazardous attempt immediately, Moira O'Malley's insistence on going along proved a complication. Before the sergeant realized her trend, he had admitted knowing only a smattering of Chinook. The girl, it seemed, spoke the tongue of the provincial Indians fluently.
"These Siwashes are by no means as dumb as they look," she said. "They will know who left the diggings on this murder ride yesterday morning. They'll tell me and then you'll know the man you're after."
Seymour at once rejected her offer as rash beyond reason. Her father, however, seemed passive, perhaps silenced by his admiration for her courage.
"Why, I'll be safe enough with such an officer as you to protect me," Moira declared. "Think what you've already done for me!"
But her trustfulness did not appeal in this extremity. Seymour insisted that such a piece of scouting was no work for a woman. She might cross-examine her Siwashes after he had cleared the creek of whites, but not before. In the end, therefore, there was a compromise, to the extent that Moira should come as far as the edge of the gulch—to see that her father got home safely.
The sergeant departed from the mission openly, carrying his tin pail. He even hoped that the house was, as the girl feared, being watched through a glass from the cañon's mouth. At his camp, he made hurried preparations, pocketing a supply of "hard" rations and extra cartridges for his gun. Down in the meadow, he unpicketed both horses. They could be trusted to stay near the tent and, in case his return was delayed, they must not suffer from want of grass and water. Although the Rev. O'Malley had said nothing about need of a rope for his "other way in," Seymour quickly spliced the two picket strings and coiled the length over his shoulder. Gaining cover of the timber, he made his way as rapidly as possible to the rear of the mission house where the O'Malleys awaited him.
The spur proved a hard climb and the missionary needed help over several of the rougher places. But at length he brought them to a point where the sheer wall of the boxed-in gulch was many feet lower than the remainder.
Even there, a dizzy drop intervened between the top and a narrow ledge that promised a path to timber line for one who was certain of foot. The old man pointed out certain crevices and projections by which a daring climber might work his way down to the ledge; but the sergeant was glad he had brought his rope with which to simplify the start.
The risk that anyone would catch sight of him as he lowered himself seemed slim, for the creek at this point was some distance away and a thick growth of fir lay between. At any rate, this was a risk to be taken; he must negotiate that ledge in daylight.
"You'll come out at the Indian burying ground," said the missionary. "I'm sure it lies in front of this dip in the wall. Conceal yourself there for the night. The Siwashes will be anywhere else after darkness falls."