The two Indians remained motionless upon the earth, trembling at every joint. Although giant trees were being uprooted on every hand and massive limbs were falling all around them, they were unharmed.
Clancy Vere’s peril was imminent.
The tree, from a branch of which he was suspended, groaned and cracked under the force of the storm, threatening momentarily to break loose from its place in the bank and go crashing over the precipice.
Even if the stout roots remained firm in their hold on the earth, the cord by which he hung was liable to be jerked asunder at any oscillation of his body; and he would shoot headlong down into the seething flood underneath and be swept to destruction over the waterfall below.
A quarter of an hour passed, during which the two savages did not arise from their recumbent position and the spirit voice did not again speak.
The tree remained firm and the lasso seemed to deride all attempts on the part of the tempest to break it. It would crack, but it would not part.
Thus far, Clancy Vere had been saved; but he was still unconscious, and had not realized the terrible danger that had menaced him.
Soon the storm began to abate somewhat.
Ku-nan-gu-no-nah and Bear-Killer got upon their feet by-and-by, when the fury of the storm was in a measure spent.
Their sharp sense of bearing had been keenly alert to catch any further words from the Spirit Warrior. But they did not hear the terrible, menacing voice again.