I cried to Ringan to run for the shelter of the
woods, for in the open we were at their mercy. He cast one glance over
his shoulder, and set a pace which came near to foundering me.
We got what we wanted earlier than we had hoped. The woods in front
rose in a high bluff, and down a little ravine a burn trickled. The
sides were too steep and matted for horses to travel, and he who stood
in the ravine had his back and flanks defended.
"Now for a fight, Andrew lad," cried Ringan, his eyes dancing. "Stick
you to the pistols, and I'll show them something in the way of
sword-play."
The Indians wheeled up to the edge of the ravine, and I saw to my joy
that they did not carry bows.
One had a musket, but it looked as if he had no powder left, for it
swung idly on his back. They had tomahawks at their belts and long
shining knives with deerhorn handles. I only got a glimpse of them, but
'twas enough to show me they were of that Western nation that I
dreaded.
They were gone in an instant.
"That looks bad for us, Andrew," Ringan said. "If they had come down on
us yelling for our scalps, we would have had a merry meeting. But
they're either gone to bring their friends or they're trying to take us
in the back. I'll guard the front, and you keep your eyes on the hinder
parts, though a jackdaw could scarcely win over these craigs.
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