For a long, silent moment the two parties remained immovable, eying
each other across the hollow. Then David edged closer to the girl. He
felt his heart thumping, but his first throttling grip of fear loosened
as his mind realized their helplessness. Leff was the only one with
arms. They must get in front of Susan and tell her to run and the camp
was a mile off! He felt for her hand and heard her whisper:
"Indians--there are six of them."
As she spoke the opposite group broke and figures detached themselves.
Three, hunched in shapeless sack-forms, were squaws. They made no
movement, resting immobile as statues, the sunset shining between the
legs of their ponies. The men spoke together, their heads turning from
the trio below to one another. David gripped the hand he held and
leaned forward to ask Leff for his knife.
"Don't be frightened," he said to Susan. "It's all right."
"I'm not frightened," she answered quietly.
"Your knife," he said to Leff and then stopped, staring. Leff very
slowly, step pressing stealthily behind step, was creeping backward up
the slope. His face was chalk white, his eyes fixed on the Indians.
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