This move, though not a little hazardous to himself, had the desired effect, and as he once more glanced back, Tom saw that his red-skinned followers had retreated, and were hidden from view. He now fired again, and while reloading the empty chambers, he busied himself by peering keenly around him, to discover, if possible, some point through which he could pass with the least delay, and consequently peril, to himself and important mission.
He dared not dally long, for the night was rolling on apace, and he must be miles away from this spot ere the sun arose above the eastern hill-tops. Then, with sternly-compressed lips and finely-strung nerves, he started anew upon his errand.
He turned, and still crouching far down, with head bowed so that the dried grass was blended with his hair and long beard, completely hiding his features, he glided slowly away from the corral, shaping his course so as to carry himself to one side of the main body of Indians, as he calculated.
Already a chuckle of delight was tickling his throat, as he saw how finely he was progressing, for he believed that his ruse would succeed, when an incident occurred which changed his exultation to angry apprehension.
From a dense mass of dried grass, almost directly in his path, there uprose the figure of a stalwart savage, who had doubtless been observing the scout’s movements. He was now so close that Maxwell could not avoid him without exciting suspicion, which would bring with it investigation and consequent discovery.
So he kept on in his course, that would carry him a few feet to one side of the Indian. But the other did not seem disposed to allow his seeming ally and brother to pass by unquestioned.
He spoke in a harsh voice that also expressed suspicion. The words were uttered in the Arapahoe dialect, with which Tom was sufficiently conversant to comprehend their purport. But he well knew that this knowledge was not perfect enough to carry him through a conversation with a native undetected, and so he replied in Delaware:
“I am wounded. The accursed pale-faces saw me as I crept up out yonder to try and kill them, and shot me. The bullet made me sick,” he said, in a husky tone.
“Where were you going?” demanded the other, also using the dialect.
“I was hunting the medicine-grass,” added Tom, fearing to lose any more time, and again crawling forward.