When Bill Blaze found Harry Winkle lying prone upon the ground, though he looked in every direction with a rapid glance, yet he gave no sign that the sight was unexpected, and when Winkle raised to his feet and staggered off after muttering a couple broken sentences, instead of attempting to stop him, or wasting time in questions, he rapidly extracted from those sentences the very pith of their meaning, and as rapidly decided how he should act.
That Edith Van Payne had gone forward and further on her headlong journey he readily understood; and that no aid of his could avert the danger of a catastrophe at the mouth of the cañon. Unless she succeeded in checking the speed of Whirlwind, before he could succeed in reaching her, her troubles would doubtless be over. That she had done this he hoped, and almost believed. The words of Winkle, however, suggested a new complication.
Charles Endicott was doubtless in the neighborhood, and had fired the shot which he had heard. Having once made out this much he could easily trace the course of events.
When Endicott fired he watched long enough to see Winkle go down, and then dashed across toward the plateau upon which Crooked Cañon debouched. If Edith was safe, she was probably in his hands. Judging from the past he could easily guess what sort of a reception Winkle would meet with if, in his present bewildered state, he came wandering near.
All this Blaze took in by almost one sweep of thought and his resolution was taken, as it were by instinct. He gave but a single glance upward to confirm his opinion of the practicability of the ascent, and then threw himself into the work he fancied he saw before him. Up the steep and jagged side of the cañon he rushed, and then forward directly over the jutting promontory around which Crooked Cañon swept to its point of debouchure. With reckless carelessness he crashed through the bushes and underbrush, intent only on reaching the point for which he was aiming. When he had traversed half the distance he came upon a man standing, leaning against a tree. This man was Rothven. The instinct of the trapper befriended him, since it removed the finger, so hastily thrown there, from a trigger that was seldom pulled in vain. Eben's appearance was not aggressive. On the contrary there was a listlessness about him that told rather of careless waiting than anxious expectancy. Only he was looking in the direction in which the trapper was going. When Endicott had passed him he had somehow comprehended not only what had happened but also what might occur; and preferred not to come on the carpet prematurely. In fact, he cared little to appear at all. The glimpse of Blaze, whom he really did not notice until that worthy had passed him, rather startled him. From his appearance he judged it was one of Martin's men. Then, a feeling of curiosity obtained the mastery over him, and he followed on to see what was in that strange race. He had not taken many paces when he heard the voice of Endicott: "Ho, there, Eben!" and he came in sight of Blaze just as a wild and piercing scream, uttered by a woman's voice, rung in his ears.
He saw Blaze stop suddenly and peer through a rift in the foliage. What the trapper saw must have been exciting, since his eyes dilated, his whole form quivered. That was just for a second; in a second more he stood like a statue, his left foot forward, his left arm extended, his right arm up, his finger on the trigger of the rifle that covered Charles Endicott's heart.
Edith Van Payne had obtained such a place in her uncle's heart that Martin sometimes fancied he must have a dual nature. He forgot that having lapsed from civilization to barbarism, from the circles of refinement to the uncouthness of ultra-frontier life, and having so fully settled to that position as to feel as though 'to the manor born,' that nevertheless, chameleon-like, change of diet might bring him back to some semblance of his old color. He had been going his way while Edith went hers, and the affinity between the two seemed to be but slight. Once or twice he had looked at her queerly, and thought that, perchance, there was a spice of poetical nonsense, of unadulterated and unselfish feeling, yet lingering around him. As often he had cast the thought aside after a moment's revolution. Now, for a day or two, he had had an opportunity to gauge himself, and found that this wilful, wild-eyed niece of his had become, during the gradual developing months of their acquaintance, more dear to him than he could ever have imagined—even away back in younger days that floated by over quieter waters. And, mixed with all this, was the wild, hard pride that close behind him he brought strength and skill and sagacity in no mean force; called out in a moment's warning to follow, to aid, to rescue. He wondered if Edith believed that he was on the trail; he queried if she knew how stout arms grasping trusting weapons were ready to strike in for her at the first opportunity. Somehow, he never doubted of her present safety from any serious harm, or despaired of her ultimate rescue. Strongly self-reliant, he had seen success too often follow his undertakings, to feel faint at heart now.
Two things troubled him immensely. That he should have been deceived at the outset of the pursuit by Indian strategy, and the defection of Endicott and his men. He accounted at first thought for the latter, by the supposition that Endicott's men had seen through the stratagem, and keeping the knowledge to themselves, the party had flown off at a tangent, leaving him, Martin, to follow the false trail. When they met again, if meet they should, he would have a small account to settle with Mr. Charles Endicott.
That meeting was destined to take place rather sooner than he anticipated. By chance he struck the trail made by five men, and, on consultation, was satisfied that it was made by the deserters. He questioned, then, within himself, whether Endicott was not in league with the Indians. Such alliances had been formed before then; and he knew that, if it should be practicable, Endicott would stop at nothing to carry out his end. However that might be, he believed that if he followed that trail, he would most likely come upon traces of Edith. And so, believing this, he desisted from his intention of pushing on to the further end of Straight Cañon, and turned off to one side. After a time, he came to where they had halted the previous night. Here the party had divided, three men going to the north, while the remaining two had turned aside, westward.