“Colonel Crockett,” said he, “I have an idea.”
“Good!” said the backwoodsman.
“We can’t see the Comanches as they lie behind their mustangs,” said the lad. “But suppose I climbed one of these trees. I could have a good sight of them then, and could drive them off with a couple of shots, maybe.”
Crockett smiled and twisted his good-humored mouth drolly to one side.
“That’s a very good plan, youngster,” said he. “But it has one big drawback. How are you going to get up the tree? The redskins would tumble you over before you’d get half-way.”
He saw the disappointed look upon the boy’s face, and added:
“If we were hard pressed and had to do something on the jump, it would be a thing we could try. But, as it stands, I think I’ll make a little experiment that’ll be safe.”
Then turning his head he glanced toward the tree which concealed the old Texan.
“Dolph, who do you reckon’s the best shot in the lot of us?”
“You are,” replied the veteran, promptly.