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The boys waited. Soon the snores became regular. The moment for action had arrived. Tad pinched Chunky. "Huh! Wat'cher want?" The fat boy had in reality been asleep. "For goodness sake, keep quiet!" begged Tad in a whisper. "Don't you know there's an Indian with a gun guarding us? He's asleep. Come, but be quiet if you value your life at all. Anyway; remember that I want to save mine."
Guess I was just in time, too, for he had you down and was reaching for something " "His knife," nodded Tad. "It's somewhere around here now." "Well, I gave him the same medicine that I had given the other. Now we'd better go and call the others." "Thank you. I'd have been in a bad fix, if you hadn't come as you did." "So might I, had you not stopped the second one.
"They're off their reservation, if they are Apaches," whispered the lad. "What does that indicate, Tad?" "I don't know. They may be on the warpath; then, again, they may be down here after game. I'm not sure even, if there is any game here. We'll lie still until they get by us. That's the best plan; don't you think so?" "Yes." "Lie perfectly still, Chunky.
"Try to get back to camp. The others will be coming along looking for us pretty soon, if we don't get away. The Indians might resent being disturbed, and perhaps make trouble." "Tell me when you're ready, then." Some minutes had elapsed and the lads could plainly hear the snores of their besiegers. "Now!" whispered Tad. At the same time he began crawling toward the edge of the rock at their rear.
Fortunately, however, their fall proved to be a very short one, though to Tad it seemed as if they had been falling for an hour. Boy and horse landed on a soft, mossy bank, rolling over and over, the pony kicking and squealing with fear, until, finally, both came to a stop at the bottom of the hill.
Melissa had gone to the "Settlemints." Why? The old woman would not answer. She was coming back, but she was ill. She had never been well since she went afoot, one cold night, to warn some YANKEE that Daws Dillon was after him. Chad started. It was Melissa who had perhaps saved his life. Tad Dillon had stepped into Daws's shoes, and the war was still going on in the hills.
I reckon I'll teach him a lesson and give him a surprise at the same time. Let's see. Yes, I have it now." Tad found a quarter inch rope. He made a slip noose at one end, working the honda or knot back and forth until it slipped easily. In reality it was a lasso. He tucked the loop under the rear of the tent, then crawled cautiously in after it.
Then he spoke without looking up. "Him mountain fall down." "Is it an ice slide?" shouted Tad. "Ugh!" "An avalanche, do you mean?" "Yes; an ice-avalanche," explained the Professor. "I have seen them in other parts of the world." "Sun make him ice weak; ice fall down," explained Anvik. "How about danger for us?" asked Walter.
Do you see him?" demanded Professor Zepplin, peering down anxiously into the shadows. "No. Oh, Tad!" shouted Ned. There was no reply to the boy's hail. "Thaddeus!" roared the Professor. Still no answer. Down the stream a short distance they could hear the water roaring over the rocks, from where it dropped some twenty feet and continued on its course.
"One at a time one at a time," begged the guide. "First I must find out how well you boys can shoot. Has any of you ever handled a gun before?" "I have," spoke up Tad promptly. "And I," added Ned Rector. "I've done a little shooting with my thirty-two calibre," said Walter. "But I don't call myself much of a shot." "And how about you, Master Stacy?" smiled the guide.
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