“Here we are, lads,” cried Macgregor, his flushed face still blazing with wrath, which he made no effort to subdue, and his eyes red with prolonged debauchery, flashing like the eyes of a tiger—“here we are, too late to cut off the retreat o’ these detestable reptiles from the woods, but not too late to circumvent them.”
The fur trader spoke rapidly, almost breathlessly, and pointed to the band of Indians they were in pursuit of, who, observing that their pursuers had halted, also drew rein on the edge of a belt of thick forest that extended for miles into the mountains. They appeared to wait, in order to ascertain what their enemies meant to do.
“The villains,” continued Macgregor, “think we’ve given up pursuit as hopeless, but they’re mistaken—they’re mistaken, as they’ll find to their cost. Now, mark me, men; we shall turn back as if we had really given in; but the moment we get down into the hollow, out of sight, we’ll go as hard as we can bolt up that valley there, and round by the place we call the Wild-Cat Pass. It’s a difficult pass, but who cares for that? Once through it we can get by a short cut to the other side of that wood, and meet the redskins right in the teeth. They’re Blackfoot Indians, I know by their dress; and, as they don’t belong to this part o’ the country, they can’t be aware of the pass. But some of us must go back a good way towards the fort, so as to deceive the blackguards, who’ll be sure to get on the first hill they can to see where we’ve gone to. Now—away! Stay,” he added in a less commanding tone, “I don’t know that my guests are willing to go with us through thick an’ thin in this fashion. I’ve no desire to have unwilling warriors.”
“Had we not been willing” replied Redhand dryly, “we wouldn’t have come even thus far.”
“Very good,” rejoined Macgregor with a grim smile; “then, perhaps, since you are so good as to go along with us, you’ll make for the head of that valley, and when you come to the Wild-Cat Pass I’ve spoken of, you’ll wait there till the rest of us, who are to sham going back to the fort, come up with ye; then we’ll go through the pass together, and polish off the redskins.”
To this plan Redhand assented; so he and his comrades prepared to take the way to the pass, while the men of the fort turned homewards. A triumphant shout from the Indians showed that they imagined the pursuit was given up; but Macgregor knew their cunning too well to fall into the mistake of at once concluding that they were thoroughly deceived. He knew that they would send out scouts to dog them, and felt, that if his plan was to succeed, he must put it into execution promptly.
“I’ve scarce had time to ask your names or where you’ve come from,” he said on parting from the trappers; “but there’ll be plenty of time for that when we meet again. Keep close in the bottom, and ride fast, till the shadow of yonder crag conceals you from view. If the Indians get sight of you, they’ll smell the dodge at once and escape us. Perhaps, young man, you’d like to come with my party?”
The latter part of this speech was made rather abruptly to March Marston, who received it with some surprise, and with a distinct refusal.
“I’ll stick by my comrades,” said he, “till I see good reason—”
“Well, well, boy—please yourself!” muttered the trader angrily, as he broke away at full speed, followed by his men.