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Buchan, John, 1875-1940

"Salute to Adventurers"

I thought foolishly that every minute
we delayed there we increased our peril, and I longed for the covering
of the lowland forest. Besides, I thought that by using some of the
crinkles in the meadow we could be sheltered from any eyes on the
slopes.
Ringan poked his head out of the covert and took a long gaze. "The
place seems empty enough, but I cannot like it. Have you your pistols
handy, Andrew? I see what looks like an Indian track, and if we were to
meet a brave or two, it would be a pity to let them betray us."
I looked at my pistols to see if the damp woods had spoiled the
priming.
"Well, here's for fortune," said Ringan, and we scrambled off the
ridge, and plunged into the lush grasses of the meadow.
Had we kept our heads and crossed as prudently as we had made the
morning's journey, all might have been well. But a madcap haste seemed
to possess us. We tore through the herbage as if we had been running a
race in the yard of a peaceful manor. The stream stayed us a little,
for it could not be forded without a wetting, and I went in up to the
waist. As we scrambled up the far bank some impulse made me turn my
head.
There, coming down the water, was a band of Indians.
They were still some distance off, but they saw us, and put their
horses to the gallop.


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