Cayuse studied the situation, fixing in his mind the exact positions of the men about the room. He was about to undertake a desperate chance. He went back to the cellar and secured several round, smooth stones. Then he crept back up the ladder again, and listened to the senseless mumbling of the two men who thought they were not drunk.
Poising himself carefully where he could see past the wood box, Cayuse hurled one of the stones with unerring aim at the lantern. With a crash the glass flew in a thousand pieces, and the cabin was instantly in utter darkness.
“Whash ’at?” demanded one of the half-sober men.
“Lan’n ’xploded,” explained the other, with remarkable sang-froid.
“’Xtror’nary!” said the first. “Musht been too full, shame’s shum theshe other fellers.”
“No; draught, cosh chimney too hot.”
“Yesh; ’twash sho many dra’f’s made theshe fellersh hot, too.”
Cayuse crept across the floor, while the guards discussed the cause and effect of the explosion and fumbled for matches.
The door was not fastened, and he let himself outside noiselessly. Then he changed his mind and returned.
The guards were still talking to each other and hunting for matches. Cayuse believed they, too, would soon be in drunken slumber. He had determined to arm himself. They had taken his rifle, also the belt with his revolver and knife, but his precious medicine bag was safe inside his shirt.