Don't look
afraid."
She immediately began to retreat with slow, short steps. Leff, gasping
with fear, moved with her, his speed accelerating with each moment.
David a few paces in advance followed them. The Indians watched in a
tranced intentness of observation. At the top of the slope the three
squaws sat as motionless as carven images. The silence was profound.
Into it, dropping through it like a plummet through space, came the
report of a rifle. It was distant but clear, and as if the bullet had
struck a taut string and severed it, it cut the tension sharp and life
flowed back. A movement, like a resumed quiver of vitality, stirred
the bronze stillness of the squaws. The Indians spoke together--a low
murmur. David thought he saw indecision in their colloquy, then
decision.
"They're going," he heard Susan say a little hoarse.
"Oh, God, they're going!" Leff gasped, as one reprieved of the death
sentence.
Suddenly they wheeled, and a rush of wild figures, galloped up the
slope. The group of squaws broke and fled with them. The light struck
the bare backs, and sent splinters from the gun barrels and the noise
of breaking bushes was loud under the ponies' feet.
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