“You may think differently afore you see the sun rise again,” replied the guide. “Now, when the train comes up tell the fellers to take half the wagons an’ block up the road, here at the end of the cliff, an’ to put the others at the lower end. Then we’ll be protected on all sides. The Injuns can’t come down the cliff to get at us, ’cause it’s too steep; an’ they can’t cross the gully nuther. They’ll have to come along the road; an’ when they try that we’ll get behind the wagons an’ fight ’em the best we know how. It’s risky business, too,” added Silas, pulling off his cap and digging his fingers into his head, “‘cause if they are too many fur us we won’t have no chance on airth to run. We’ll have to stay right here an’ die, the hul kit an’ bilin’ of us.” Julian, who had never seen an Indian in war-paint or heard the whistle of a hostile bullet, was amazed at the trapper’s coolness and indifference. The bare thought of a fight with the savages was enough to cause him the most intense alarm, and yet here was Silas, who had more than once been a prisoner in the hands of the Indians, and who knew much better than Julian could imagine it, what the fate of the emigrants would be if their enemies proved too strong for them, apparently as much at his ease as though there had not been a hostile warrior within a thousand miles. The boy wondered at his courage and wished his friend could impart some of it to him, little dreaming how soon he would have need of it. “Do you really think there is danger of an attack?” asked Julian, as soon as he could speak. The trapper, who was in the act of untying a haunch of venison that was fastened behind his saddle, turned and looked curiously at his companion. “Youngster,” said he, “if you should diskiver a cloud as black as midnight comin’ up over these mountains, an’ should see the lightnin’ a playin’ around the edges, an’ hear the thunder a grumblin’, what would you say?” “That we were going to have a storm,” replied Julian. “In course you would. An’ when I know that thar are Injins all around us, an’ that they are takin’ mighty good care to keep themselves out of sight, I tell myself that they’ll bar watchin’. When I see their trail, an’ find out that thar are nigh onto three hundred braves in the party, an’ that they haint got no women or plunder with ’em, I know that they are on the war-path. An’ when they foller us fur two hul days, an’ their spies watch us every night while we are makin’ our camp—like that varlet over thar is watchin’ us now—I know that they are arter us an’ nobody else. The signs are jest as plain to me as the signs of a thunder storm are to you.” “Is there some one watching us now?” asked Julian, in great excitement. “Sartin thar is. I’ve seed that copper-colored face of his’n peepin’ over that rock ever since we’ve been here. If he was within good pluggin’ distance all the news he would carry back to his friends wouldn’t do ’em much good, I reckon.”