The spot was, in fact, an ideal one for an ambush, and Steve had had it in his mind's eye the whole of the previous two days, for he was well acquainted with the district. As he had said, this steep rocky ridge cut across the course of the fugitives, running for many miles on either hand. In many places it was almost unclimbable, and at this point it happened to be less severe, so much so that many a colonist making east into the promised land, the valley of the Ohio, had followed the blaze marks of those who had gone before him, and had clambered over the rise where others had found a road. It was the most natural thing, therefore, for this party of fugitives to take the same track, and indeed it was the only course that they could take. The Indians would know this, so Steve argued, and there was little doubt that by now they were within a few miles of the ridge. What would happen when they came up to it? "They will climb over and wipe the whole lot of us out," our hero had said to himself. "We must stop them here if at all." Then, as he tramped through the forest on the previous day, he had recollected that in approaching the ridge from the Ohio valley one caught a glimpse every now and again of the track far in advance, for the country to the west rose again, less sharply to be sure, but to a greater elevation. A party making their way over that second rise in the land would be instantly detected by the Indian pursuers, who would imagine that all their pale face enemies were there. "It is our only chance," said Steve, as the men gathered about him. "Our scouts in rear have not yet signalled, so we know that the enemy are not yet up with us, though they were on our trail last night. Then we have plenty of time. In an hour the ponies, with the women and children, will be on the high ground beyond, and when the Indians see them----" "They'll come streamin' up this ridge like hounds," growled Jim. "This air the place to stop 'em. You place the boys, my lad." Very rapidly and coolly Steve told the trappers off to their posts, cautioning them that there was not to be a sound till he fired his musket. Then he himself took cover close to the edge of the track and waited. Presently two slim figures appeared down below, flitting between the trees, and the trappers left behind as scouts began to climb the ridge. "A hundred of the varmint full on the trail," whispered one as he lay down beside Steve. "We watched 'em till half an hour ago, and then me and Stubbs come along at a dog trot. They'll be in sight in less than no time. Reckon they'll spot the rest of our party. They air right up there on the high ground beyond, and yer can sight 'em ploddin' along beside the ponies." [Illustration: "STEVE RESTED HIS BARREL IN THE FORK OF A DWARFED TREE"] "Hist! That air one of the skunks."