"Oh, I--guess not," and Murphy spat contemptuously. "Do ye think--I 'm
afeard o' yer--shootin'? Ye don't dare--fer I 'm no good ter ye--dead."
"You are perfectly right. You are quite a philosopher in your way.
You would be no good to me dead, Murphy, but you might prove fully as
valuable maimed. Now I 'm playing this game to the limit, and that
limit is just about reached. You unlimber before I count ten, you
murderer, or I 'll spoil both your hands!"
The mocking, sardonic grin deserted Murphy's features. It was sullen
obstinacy, not doubt of the other's purpose, that paralyzed him.
"Unlimber! It's the last call."
With a snarl the scout unclasped his army belt, dropped it to the
ground, and sullenly kicked it over toward Hampton. "Now--now--you,
you gray-eyed--devil, kin I--sit up?"
The other nodded. He had drawn the fangs of the wolf, and now that he
no longer feared, a sudden, unexplainable feeling of sympathy took
possession of him. Yet he drew farther away before slipping his own
gun into its sheath. For a time neither spoke, their eyes peering
across the ridge. Murphy sputtered and swore, but his victorious
companion neither spoke nor moved. There were several distant smokes
out to the northward now, evidently the answering signals of different
bands of savages, while far away, beneath the shadow of the low bluffs
bordering the stream, numerous black, moving dots began to show against
the light brown background. Hampton, noticing that Murphy had stopped
swearing to gaze, swung forward his field-glasses for a better view.
"They are Indians, right enough," he said, at last. "Here, take a
look, Murphy. I could count about twenty in that bunch, and they are
travelling north."
The older man adjusted the tubes to his eyes, and looked long and
steadily at the party. Then he slowly swung the glasses toward the
northwest, apparently studying the country inch by inch, his jaws
working spasmodically, his unoccupied hand clutching nervously at the
grass.
"They seem--to be a-closin' in," he declared, finally, staring around
into the other's face, all bravado gone. "There's anuther lot--bucks,
all o' 'em--out west yonder--an' over east a smudge is--just startin'.
Looks like--we wus in a pocket--an' thar' might be some--har-raisin'
fore long."
"Well, Murphy, you are the older hand at this business. What do you
advise doing?"
"Me? Why, push right 'long--while we kin keep under cover.
Then--after dark--trust ter bull luck an' make--'nuther dash. It's
mostly luck, anyhow. Thet canyon just ahead--looks like it leads a
long way--toward the Powder. Its middling deep down, an' if there
ain't Injuns in it--them fellers out yonder--never cud git no sight at
us. Thet's my notion--thet ivery mile helps in this--business."