“I want both of you to show yourselves directly behind me,” directed the scout, “and then I want you to jump back into the bushes on either side of the trail, run back a few feet, and then come out where you can be seen again. We must make these redskins think there are at least a dozen of us. You’ll have to move fast, too, because we aren’t going to stay here very long.” A few moments later the men came within sight of the Indians. The discovery of their presence was greeted by a shout, but as yet none of the braves manifested any desire to start in pursuit of the white men. Acting promptly upon the suggestion of Kit Carson, Reuben and Jake darted into the bushes, emerging several times in a manner that might confuse their foes and lead them to believe that there were more in the party than at first appeared. Soon after the war-whoop of the Blackfeet had been heard Kit Carson and his companions started swiftly back over the trail by which they had come. Their flight was greeted with a loud yell, and instantly most of the Indians started in swift pursuit. “It’s the same band that killed the last party of trappers,” said Kit Carson in a low voice to Reuben. “We’ll fix them this time so that they won’t make any more trouble of that kind.” Reuben was running rapidly, but all three knew that they were a considerable distance from the Indians and that their own friends were not far back on the trail; so he was not unduly alarmed. Somehow his complete confidence in the young guide caused him to believe that even in their present peril he would find a way out. The yelling band of braves soon appeared. They were running swiftly and it was evident that they had cast aside their usual caution. The confidence of the attacking party was unabated. If Kit Carson was correct in his statement that the band following them was one which had destroyed the company of trappers the preceding year, it was plain now that they were equally sure the whites were afraid of them. At all events they were swiftly pursuing and were steadily gaining upon the three fugitives. The air resounded with blood-curdling war-whoops. The faces of the warriors, smeared with war-paint, were terrifying, and every time Reuben glanced behind him his fear increased, although he still was convinced that Kit Carson was not attempting any trick for which he was not fully prepared. Strong in their belief that the men who were fleeing were afraid, the Indians pressed still closer in their pursuit. Indeed they were almost upon the heels of the fleeing men. A few steps more and the venturesome trappers would be in their power.