That a spear handle must necessarily support a spear head; that an Indian probably grasped the former; that, in the present position of affairs, there were certainly more Indians than one in ambush; and that, in all probability, there were at that moment two or three dozen arrows resting on their respective bows, and pointed towards his and his comrade’s hearts, ready to take flight the instant they should come within sure and deadly range, were ideas which did not follow each other in rapid succession through his brain, but
darted upon the young hunter’s quick perceptions instantaneously, and caused his heart to beat on his ribs like a sledge-hammer, and the blood to fly violently to his face.
Luckily March’s face was deeply browned, and did not show the crimson tide. With a sudden, mighty effort he checked the natural look and exclamation of surprise. That was the moment of danger past. To continue his praise of the lovely scene in gay delighted tones was comparatively easy.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” he said, turning his face full towards the ambushed savages, gazing over their place of concealment with an unconscious joyous air, and sweeping his hand towards the mountains, as if to draw the attention of his companion to them. March’s only weapon at that moment was the small hatchet he was wont to carry in his girdle. This implement chanced to be in his hand. Placing it carelessly in his belt, as though nothing was further from his mind than the idea of requiring to use it at that time, he cried—
“See, yonder is a mound from which we may get a better view,” and trotted to the summit of the spot alluded to. In doing so, he placed himself still nearer to the Indians. This was a bold stroke, though a dangerous one, meant to deceive the enemy. After gazing a few seconds from this spot, he wheeled round and walked his horse quietly towards the entrance to the pass. Arrived there, he turned, and pretending that he saw something in the far distance, he shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed for a short time intently, then calling to Bertram, who still remained in his original position all unconscious of his danger, said—
“I say, come here; look at yonder splendid lake, it’s worth seeing—well worth seeing; and if you don’t see it with that curious light on it, you’ll not care to see it at all.”
March did not dare, by energy of voice, to force his friend’s attention, therefore the first part of this speech was unheeded; but the reference to a “curious light” had the desired effect. Bertram turned, and rode to join his companion. Getting Bertram into such a position that his own person partially screened him from the Indians, he made the following remarkable speech, from beginning to end, in the gay tones of one who discourses eloquently on the beauties of nature; pointing here and there as he rattled on.
“An’t it beautiful? eh? I say, just look at it now!—listen to me, Bertram—attentively, but gaze admiringly at the scene—at the scene—oh! man, do what I bid ye—your life hangs on it. Pretend to admire it—we’re in great danger—but—”
“Eh? what? where?” exclaimed the artist in a tone of intense excitement, at the same time laying his hand on one of his pistols and gazing anxiously all round him.