They never once raised their heads, although Edwin scrutinized them so closely that he was sure they were a portion of the party which had attacked them at the cave, and he recognized the very individual who was so handsomely vanquished in his attempt to shake hands with Jim Tubbs. This being the case, he entertained much less fear of them than he would, had they been strangers.
But, recollecting that he had come out for the purpose of obtaining food, he turned away and wandered off in another direction. While he was asking himself whether it would be prudent to fire his gun in their vicinity or not, a fine plump young antelope rushed by him with the speed of the wind. Quick as thought his gun was over his shoulder, and, with a frenzied leap, the beautiful creature dropped, and, after a few frantic struggles, lay dead.
Edwin hurried up to him, and, drawing his knife, commenced dressing it and securing the choicest portions for their supper. Absorbed thus in his work, he forgot entirely the proximity of the aborigines. He had about completed his work, when, with lightning-like suddenness, a reflection of his peril came over him, and he rose erect and glanced about him.
Providentially his first look was directed toward the proper point, and he saw at quite a distance two Indians, standing perfectly motionless, and watching him seemingly with great interest. The moment he raised his head they darted each behind a tree, evidently not through fear, but with a far different object.
Edwin was a boy with an intelligence and perception beyond his years, and he immediately saw his danger, and looked furtively around to learn the best direction in which to retreat. His first thought was to run straight from the red men and, observing that the wood was thicker and more broken, he did not hesitate, but started off at once.
Casting one glance over his shoulder, he observed the two aborigines after him, although neither of them gave utterance to the “yell,” which, with the proverbial “_ugh_,” seems to be about the only language which ever emerges from the lips of the North American Indian, if the authority of story writers is to be taken.
In a race of this kind, we could not dare risk our reputation in saying that the little fellow was anything like a match for his lithe pursuers. He hadn’t been in training as long as they, and it was impossible that the cowardly Mohaves should not gain upon him with sad certainty.