They would have murdered any white men they might meet for their arms
alone, without considering the spirit of wantonness or revenge that
might animate them.

Brooks and Desmond rose from their seats beside the fire and moved
slowly away. At any moment an arrow or even a rifle shot might come and
end the life of one or both.

Desmond had become a very expert woodsman; he and Brooks had been
chased by Indians several times and had exchanged shots with one band.
They knew a cover in a crevice in the wall of rock which ran up abruptly
each side of the gulch; from this spot they could survey and also make a
good fight in an emergency. They had good weapons, plenty of ammunition,
and what was more, coolness, skill, and courage. Desmond, especially,
was a very cool-headed chap in times of danger; the use of firearms was
not new to him, nor was the woodsman life altogether a novelty, for he
had been raised in a very wild and desolate mountain region.

Quickly they stole to cover, although they believed it possible that
they might have been seen, for they had absolute proof, well known to
woodsmen, that if there were foes in the vicinity they had been
discovered. Once in their covert they lay low, and a few moments passed,
when they beheld a solitary figure advancing slowly and very cautiously
up the gulch, and as the figure came in the light of the fire Desmond,
whose eyesight was very keen, said:

"It's a white man; he looks like a hunter; we will wait a moment or two,
but I guess it is all right."

The figure, meantime, with rifle poised, advanced very slowly and