"Enough," Red Cedar said, furiously; "we cannot remain here, so let us go back."
"Where is Nathan?" the squatter suddenly asked; "has he fallen off?"
"Not such a fool," the young man said, with a laugh; "but I have changed my dress."
He parted the leaves that hid him, and his comrades gave a cry of surprise. Nathan was clothed in a bearskin, and carried the head in his hand.
"Oh, oh!" said Red Cedar, "That is a lucky find; where did you steal that, lad?"
"I only had the trouble to take it off the branch where it was hung to dry."
"Take care of it, for it may be of use ere long."
After taking a few steps, Red Cedar stopped, stretched out his arm to warn his comrades, and listened. After two or three minutes, he turned to his comrades and whispered--"Our retreat is cut off; people are walking on the trees, I heard branches creaking and leaves rustling."
"We will not despair," he went on, quickly, "all is not yet lost; let us go higher, and on one side, till they have passed; during that time, Nathan will amuse them; the Comanches rarely do an injury to a bear."
No one made any objection, so Sutter started first, and the monk followed. Ellen looked at her father sorrowfully. "I care not," she said.
"I say again, I will save you, child," he replied with great tenderness.
He took the maiden in his powerful arms, and laid her softly on his shoulder.
"Hold on," he muttered, "and fear nothing."
Then, with a dexterity and strength doubled by a father's love, the bandit seized the bough over his head with one hand, and disappeared in the foliage, after saying to his son: "Look out, Nathan, play your part cleverly, lad, our safety depends on you."
"Don't be frightened, old one," the young man replied, as he put on the bear's head; "I am not more stupid than an Indian; they will take me for their cousin."
We know what happened, and how this trick, at first so successful, was foiled by Curumilla. On seeing his son fall, the squatter was momentarily affected by a blind rage, and pointed his rifle at the Indian. Fortunately the monk saw the imprudent gesture soon enough to check him. "What are you about?" he hoarsely whispered, as he struck up the barrel; "you will destroy your daughter."
Ellen, by an extraordinary hazard, had seen nothing; had she done so, it is probable that her brother's death would have drawn from her a cry of agony, which must have denounced her companions.