The Indian reluctantly consented to this arrangement, and pointed to a white-topped peak, far to the westward.
“The trail is plain enough,” said he, “and it leads to that peak. If you do not find us there, you will find an arrow, to show you which way we have gone.”
Flora rode away with the Indian, after a few words of encouragement from Wilder, who then set himself at work to strengthen his position.
His first care was to collect a number of bowlders, as large as he could lift or roll. These he placed at the head of the declivity, blocking up the defile, until the pile was breast high.
This done, and the condition of his rifle and ammunition carefully examined, he sat down to fortify his inner man, while he calmly awaited the approach of the Blackfeet.
It was about noon when he heard them coming, and soon he saw them, and was able to count them, as they entered the defile. They were twenty in number, including the chief, who was conspicuous in the advance. All had led horses, so that they could change when the animals they rode became weary, which accounted for the rapidity with which they had followed in pursuit.
On they came, urged forward by the chief, uttering guttural exclamations as they forced their animals up the incline.
It must be said, to the credit of Fred Wilder, that he was unwilling to cause the death of any of the red-men whose hospitality he had lately shared, unless self-defense should compel him to do so. He hailed them, therefore, and ordered them to halt.
A parley ensued between him and Good Ax, by whom he was at once recognized. The chief demanded that Flora Robinette and White Shield should be given up, promising the white man that he would be allowed to go his way. Wilder declared that nothing of the kind should be done, adding that his red brother and the lady were far beyond pursuit. If the Blackfeet attempted to force the pass, he said, they would do it at the peril of their lives. As he did not wish to hurt them, he advised them to go home.
Good Ax was so enraged that he ordered an immediate attack. The Blackfeet led their horses down the slope, to be out of the way, and rushed up to the assault; but Wilder was ready for them.
Having arranged his bowlders for immediate use, he sent one of them whirling down the declivity, and followed it with another. The Indians, unable to escape the ponderous missiles that came bounding and thundering among them, screamed and yelled like demons, and all who were able to do so made a precipitate retreat.