The cliff shot up perpendicularly, a distance of about ninety feet, facing the east. The whole face was smooth, without niche or seam, with the exception of one spot. This was a narrow, shelf-like ledge, about thirty feet from the top, some three yards in length and about one in breadth.
As the trapper was looking at the precipice, with which he was quite familiar, the pompous chief before mentioned accosted him:
“Does Long-knife behold? The ledge shall be his grave! He will thirst, but there will be no water; he will hunger, but there will be no food. Below him, the birds will fly, the antelope will jump, and the buffalo graze, but it will be nothing to him. Long-knife will not be able to reach them!”
Wild Nat looked at him, at first puzzled; but, as the full meaning of his words broke upon him, his heart sunk. It would, indeed, be a fearful death!
But not to his captors would he show fear.
“Kalkerlate tew set me up thar, eh?” he inquired, in so cool a tone that the chief stared. “Be a splendid place to take a look at the country. Guess I’ll make a map on’t while I’m thar.”
“Long-knife sneers,” said the Indian. “He will soon see that the Wolf speaks truth.”
“How ye goin’ tew h’ist me up thar?” queried Wild Nat.
“The Wolf has means,” replied the chief, walking away.
The chiefs now gathered together and held a short council. At its close, the trapper was taken from his horse and placed upon the ground, where he was tied in such a manner as enabled him to stand upright. He was then taken by several Indians and half-dragged, half-driven, up the mountain to the brow of the cliff.