It was a gallant offer. But they were like the rest of us, men of pluck. Had we not been so, necessity would have produced it. Nothing gives a man so much bravery, as the knowledge that his own courage alone keeps death at bay for a day or two longer. Their resolution was certainly increased by this knowledge. Suffice it, this offer was accepted. About eleven o'clock on that night, they stripped themselves perfectly naked, and, greasing their bodies with a portion of the bacon-fat which chanced to be left, prepared for their task. The reason for doing this last, was, in order to avoid their clothes catching on or being entangled by the brush, as well as to afford a chance of their escaping the grasp of the red devils, should their progress alarm them. They were each armed with a sheath-knife. If caught, they had determined upon fighting as long as they had any life left to fight with. Neither of them would be taken captive. My experience, while in the hands of the Pah-utes, had been detailed to them on the preceding night, by Brighton Bill, in a full audience of the rest of our party. Nor did he narrate it, with mitigating circumstances. As may be very readily supposed, this had been by no means a highly consolatory recital. It was, therefore, with a prayer for their safety from our lips, and with small hope of it in their own thoughts, that they left us. The words in which our farewell had been uttered, seemed like bidding a last "good-bye" to actual brothers. Darkness had fallen heavily around us. We were unable to pierce the dense gloom with our eyes, and could see nothing. What was left to us but to wait and hope? CHAPTER XVI. A GOOD SHOT--THE WHITE HORSE--APPROACHING HELP--ONLY A FLEA-BITE--A SHOUT OF JOY--RAISING THE SIEGE--AN INDIAN PANIC--THE PURSUIT--RECOVERING MY SENSES--FOR THE LAST TIME--A BEAD AND NO POWDER--BARE FEET AND THE SHARP "SHALE"--HEROIC SELF-SACRIFICE--A RAPID AND DASHING RESCUE. The hour of suspense which followed their having left the camp, was terrible. Every moment of it passed so slowly, that it appeared to be winged with lead. Each instant we were expecting to hear the crack of fire-arms, or the sound of a fierce struggle--not for life, but death. As the minutes passed slowly away, at length we began to realize the fact that they might have succeeded in passing undetected through the midst of the slumbering Indians. This belief gradually ripened into a positive certainty. Brighton Bill was the first of us who found sufficient hardihood to give voice to this. Bringing down his hand with a ringing slap upon his thigh, he blurted out: "May H'i be blamed, hif pluck don't pay hafter h'all. The boys hare safe." "I'll bet they are," said Stanaford with a round oath. "The red skunks haven't nabbed 'em." And so, that night, for the first time in three days, I was able to get some few hours of slumber, and woke with something akin to hope stirring in my bosom.