CHAPTER XI.
AN INDIAN ENCOUNTER.
The country through which the Cooper party were now travelling was partially wooded. Soon, however, they would reach the long and barren stretch of country—the great salt plain—which was the dread of all overland parties. Then there would be no woods till they approached the borders of the Golden State.
About the middle of the afternoon, while the oxen were plodding along at the rate of barely two miles an hour, they received a surprise.
Tom Cooper, whose eyes were the sharpest, called out suddenly:
“Look there!”
Grant looked, but had to approach nearer before he could realize the situation. Then he saw a white man tied to a slender tree, while half a dozen Indians were dancing round him, uttering a series of guttural cries, which appeared to fill the captive with intense dread. It was too far to distinguish the features of the prisoner, but when they came nearer Tom cried out, “Dang me, if it aint Silverthorn!”
It was indeed Dionysius Silverthorn, and his plight was certainly a serious one.
“What shall we do?” asked Grant.
“We must rescue him,” answered Tom. “He’s a mean rascal, and he’s repaid our hospitality by robbing us; but we can’t let him be killed by those redskins.”
“I’m with you!” said Grant.