The great tree that had probably served before in the same gruesome office for which it was selected to-day, stood bare and forbidding against the sky line.
There didn't seem to be anything but sky beyond the edge of the ridge, while the trail they were on ran just below the top, and along the back of the mountain. There certainly was no escape in that direction.
The troopers formed in a semi-circle to prevent any bolt for liberty, and the two boys walked forward with the Indian between them. His hands were still tied behind his back, and of the entire party, the redman seemed to be the least affected. He was prepared to accept his fate with the calm stoicism of his race.
"If we cut your ropes, can we escape?" inquired Tom, softly, as they drew near the tree.
The Indian's eyes glinted responsively, and he nodded his head affirmatively.
"How?" asked Tom, pretending to fix the rope which was supposed to swing the Indian off his feet.
"Over the cliff edge. Roll down," replied the Redman.
Tom glanced up at the branches of the tree, apparently selecting one over which to throw the rope. In reality he was looking over the side of the cliff, and it was not an encouraging view. There was what looked like a straight drop of a hundred feet before he saw a ledge, and further down in the valley he could make out the glitter of a tiny stream, rushing down through the valley.
"Hurry up, there," called an authoritative voice from the half circle of troopers.