In his hand he held his rifle ready, and the long knife gleamed in his
belt. For a moment David had no voice wherewith to arrest him, but
Susan had.
"Where are you going?" she said loudly.
It stopped him like a blow. His terrified eyes shifted to her face.
"I wasn't going," he faltered.
"Come back," she said. "You have the rifle and the knife."
He wavered, his loosened lips shaking.
"Back here to us," she commanded, "and give David the rifle."
He crept downward to them, his glance always on the Indians. They had
begun to move forward, leaving the squaws on the ridge. Their approach
was prowlingly sinister, the ponies stepping gingerly down the slope,
the snapping of twigs beneath their hoofs clear in the waiting silence.
As they dipped below the blazing sunset the rider's figures developed
in detail, their bodies bare and bronzed in the subdued light. Each
face, held high on a craning neck, was daubed with vermilion, the high
crest of hair bristling across the shaven crowns. Grimly impassive
they came nearer, not speaking nor moving their eyes from the three
whites.
Pages:
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115