“Thar’s logic in it, too, lad; now you see if we’d ’a’ stopped and went to huntin’ fur the red that fired the shot, he’d ’a’ shot us down. By runnin’ he’ll think we’re scart, and out he’ll dive from his nest and take arter us. Then ’s the time to turn and let him have it; I think the ijee ’s not to be sneezed at.”
And so thought Town., as the scout whirled suddenly around, threw his rifle to his face, and fired. Simultaneous with the crack of the gun, a savage death-cry rung out through the forest aisles—thus proving how effectual was the old scout’s plan of drawing an enemy from ambush.
The two now continued their course without further molestation.
Cautiously skirting the Indian village, they reached the Devil’s Staircase two miles beyond, where they had agreed to meet the ranger.
The Devil’s Staircase was an almost perpendicular declivity, leading down a narrow defile into a low plain or valley. The forest around it was of dense growth, and in broad daylight its shadows lay thick as the gloom of summer twilight.
When this point was reached, it lacked two hours of night, and as the scout and Town. could do nothing until then, they concluded to conceal themselves, and await its cover before making any further move.
A retreat, flanked upon three sides by jutting rocks, was selected by the two men, who at once threw themselves in an attitude of repose. As an enemy could approach them only in front, it required no extra vigilance to guard their position, and they made themselves quite at ease.
After discussing the incidental topics of their situation and future prospects, Town. said:
“Then you believe the Boy Ranger is in league with the Indians, eh, Tumult?”
“Ya-as, with the Arapahoes. They’re mean enuff to league with Satan. I tell ye, lad, arter all there ’s more honor in the Sioux tribe, than enny other on this terrestial ball.”