We waited for him to make it known.
“Now, boyees!” said he at length, “hyur’s how we’ll git clur. Fust an fo’must, we’ll crawl up yanner, soon’s it gits dark enough to kiver us. Seconds, we’ll toat our trail-ropes along wi’ us. Thuds, we’ll jine the three thegither, an ef thet ain’t long enough, a kupple o’ bridles ’ll help out. Fo’th, we’ll tie the eend o’ the rope to a saplin up thur on top, an then slide down the bluff on t’other side, do ee see? Fift, oncest down on the paraira, we’ll put straight for the settlements. Sixt an lastest, when we gits thur, we’ll gather a wheen o’ the young fellur’s rangers, take a bee-line back to the mound, an gie these hyur niggurs sech a lambaystin as they hain’t hed since the war begun. Now?”
“Now” meant, What think you of the plan? Mentally, both Garey and I had already approved of it, and we promptly signified our approval.
It really promised well. Should we succeed in carrying out the details without being detected, it was probable enough that within a few hours we might be safe in the piazza of the rancheria, and quenching our thirst at its crystal well.
The anticipated pleasure filled us with fresh energy; and we instantly set about putting everything in readiness. One watched, while the other two worked.
Our lazoes were knotted together, and the four horses fastened head to head with their bridles, and secured so as to keep them behind the boulder. This done, we awaited the falling of night.
Would it be a dark night?
About this we now felt anxious. It was already closing down, and gave promise of favouring us: a layer of lead-coloured clouds covered the sky, and we knew there could be no moon before midnight.
Rube, who boasted he could read weather-sign like a “salt-sea sailor,” scrutinised the sky.
“Wal, old hos!” interrogated Garey, “what do ye think o’t? Will it be dark, eh?”