"It is our only chance," said Steve, as the men gathered about him. "Our scouts in rear have not yet signalled, so we know that the enemy are not yet up with us, though they were on our trail last night. Then we have plenty of time. In an hour the ponies, with the women and children, will be on the high ground beyond, and when the Indians see them----"
"They'll come streamin' up this ridge like hounds," growled Jim. "This air the place to stop 'em. You place the boys, my lad."
Very rapidly and coolly Steve told the trappers off to their posts, cautioning them that there was not to be a sound till he fired his musket. Then he himself took cover close to the edge of the track and waited. Presently two slim figures appeared down below, flitting between the trees, and the trappers left behind as scouts began to climb the ridge.
"A hundred of the varmint full on the trail," whispered one as he lay down beside Steve. "We watched 'em till half an hour ago, and then me and Stubbs come along at a dog trot. They'll be in sight in less than no time. Reckon they'll spot the rest of our party. They air right up there on the high ground beyond, and yer can sight 'em ploddin' along beside the ponies."
[Illustration: "STEVE RESTED HIS BARREL IN THE FORK OF A DWARFED TREE"]
Jim, who happened to be next to Steve, lifted a warning finger and then pointed below. A painted redskin, hideous in his feathered war-gear, slipped like a shadow from the trees and stood in the open, staring up over the ridge to the high land beyond. They saw him turn and call softly, and then, one by one, some hundred of his comrades flitted up to his side and stood staring at the white fugitives beyond. Some danced with joy and brandished their tomahawks, while one of their number turned and addressed them.
"My children, these pale faces are ours," he said. "Within the hour their scalps shall hang at our belts. Climb the rise and enter the trees. Do not make a sound till they are enclosed by us. Then rush upon them and slay."
He pointed to the ridge, and, leaping forward, led the way up the steep ascent. And as the whole party followed, their eyes fixed upon their leader or upon the summit of the rise, some twenty ponderous muskets went to as many stout shoulders, and sights were levelled upon the redskin demons clambering up the track. Steve rested his muzzle in the fork of a dwarfed tree and aligned the sights on the feathered chief who led the party. And there he waited, his cheek well down on the stock, his eye glued to the sights, and his finger pressing ever so gently on the trigger. He was as steady as the fork in which his weapon rested, for Steve was a hardened fighter by now, and he knew that the lives of all the women and children depended on the coolness and courage of himself and his comrades. He allowed nothing to frighten him, and where many would have pulled the trigger out of sheer excitement and inability to put up with the suspense any longer, he crouched there waiting, waiting.