They could now more distinctly hear the shouts of their despoilers; and, as they continued the ascent, the narrow chine in the cliff opened between them and the plain, giving them a glimpse of what was there going on.
They could see the savages—some on foot, others on horseback—the latter careering round as if engaged in a tournament.
They saw they were roystering, wild with triumph, and maddened with drink—the fire-water they had found in the waggons.
“Though they be drunk, we mustn’t stay hyar so nigh ’em,” muttered Walt. “I allers like to put space atween me and seech as them. They mout get some whimsey into their heads, an’ come this ways. They’ll take any amount o’ trouble to raise ha’r; an’ maybe grievin’ that they hain’t got ourn yit, an’ mout think they’d hev another try for it. As the night’s bound to be a mooner, we can’t git too far from ’em. So let’s out o’ this quick’s we kin.”
“On, then!” said Hamersley, assenting; and the next moment the two were rapidly ascending the gorge, Wilder leading the way.
This time they were more fortunate. The ravine sloped on up to the summit of the cliff, debouching upon a level plain. They reached this without passing any point that could bring them under the eyes of the Indians.
They could still hear the shouts of triumph and wild revelry; but as they receded from the crest of the cliff these grew fainter and fainter, until they found themselves fleeing over an open table-land, bounded above by the sky, all round them silent as death—silent as the heart of a desert.