“It wouldn’t surprise me if it is as you say. I haven’t heard how many the Cas-ta-ba-nas are in this part of the country, but if they don’t number more than the Shoshones the two parties will be too many for us to handle.” “We’ll make it interesting, anyway,” sturdily replied Victor. It was a strange procession that filed through the mountains, the five Shoshones stalking forward in Indian file, with Mul-tal-la riding close to the last, then George Shelton and his brother, with Zigzag patiently plodding at the rear, it being deemed safe to leave him in that position, since there was no call for extra precaution, and he had little or no chance to disturb the arrangements. By and by the moon appeared above the range and added to the dim light that had thus far guided the two parties. The trail which they were following proved easier of travel than at the beginning. Twice they had to cross small streams, but the rushing water was no more than a few inches deep and the footing of the animals was secure. Then they wound along a precipice, reaching downward fully a hundred feet, where the path was so narrow that there was scant room for a single laden horse. Peering into the gloomy depth the brothers felt a shrinking, for the slip of any one of their horses would have brought woeful consequences. George and Victor drew a sigh of relief when they reached a safer place. Here the trail broadened for many yards, and traveling was all that anyone could wish. The progress was deliberate and seemingly as automatic as if regulated by machinery. The line of Shoshones did not increase nor slacken its gait, even when treading the narrow portion which caused the lads disquiet. Unexpectedly in making a turn they came upon a camp-fire burning some rods to the left of the trail and in an open space. The first glance showed that fully a dozen warriors were grouped about it, some lolling on the ground or on boulders, several standing up, and most of them smoking long-stemmed pipes, which were made from a peculiar red clay found in the vicinity. They had evidently eaten their evening meal some time before. “The Cas-ta-ba-nas!” exclaimed George, speaking over his shoulder to his brother. [Illustration: The Critical Moment.] The Shoshones halted and spoke to Mul-tal-la, who dismounted and talked with them for a few minutes. Then the Blackfoot addressed the boys: “Let my brothers wait till Mul-tal-la comes back to them.” With that he turned off with the Shoshones, who headed straight for the camp of the Cas-ta-ba-nas, the party straggling forward without any regard to order. George and Victor remained seated on their horses, watching the singular scene.