Here the trail was narrow and difficult. Douglas and his companion were marching with the main body of Indians—immediately behind Tenskwatawa and his daughter. The shadows gathered around them; the air grew chill. The sharp click of a hoof upon a loose stone, or the guttural exclamation of a stumbling brave alone broke the silence. Into Ross Douglas’s mind came the thought to dart into the bushes, that bordered the winding path, and attempt to escape. Hurriedly he glanced around him—impatiently he awaited a favorable opportunity. “Don’t think of such a thing,” said Bradford’s husky voice in his ear. Douglas started. Was it possible his companion read his thoughts? He returned in a tone of well-assumed surprise: “Don’t think of what?” “You have it in mind to try to escape,” was the quiet reply. “Banish the thought—the attempt means death. Don’t you see the braves have drawn close around us and are watching your every movement?” “Y-e-s,” Ross hesitatingly admitted. “At whose order has it been done?” “Mine.” “I didn’t hear you speak.” “It wasn’t necessary—a sign was sufficient. No, you’d be taking a foolhardy risk to——” The sentence was cut short by a storm of shouts and exclamations coming from the head of the column, farther down the trail. A pack-horse, stumbling, had fallen from the narrow path into a deep ravine. The tumult raised by the savages frightened several others of the beasts of burden; and they whirled and came flying back up the trail. These in turn stampeded others still—and the whole swept the narrow way like an avalanche. Ross Douglas heard and understood all. In the panic that was sure to ensue he saw a chance to escape. To right and to left sprang the warriors. Ross loosened the knife in his belt, firmly gripped his rifle, and was ready to dart away in the darkness. “Quick!” shouted Bradford. “Let’s scramble up this bank. Quick—or we shall be trampled to death!” Grabbing Douglas by the arm, he sought to drag him in that direction. But the younger man held back. The thunderous roar of the galloping horses drew nearer. They turned a sharp bend in the road and loomed into view. In the gloom they resembled a rapidly approaching thundercloud. Tenskwatawa’s black steed neighed wildly and, taking the bit in his teeth, whirled and dashed away. The gray pony crouched in its tracks and trembled. Douglas jerked loose from his companion’s restraining grasp and leaped toward the brink of the ravine on the right, intending to drop into the depths. But at that moment La Violette’s shrill scream of affright smote upon his ear. Abandoning all idea of escape, forgetting his own danger—everything, he threw down his gun and sprang to her assistance. “My God!” groaned Bradford, staggering toward a place of safety. “Both will be killed! In my excitement I didn’t think of _her_. Too late—too late!” Reaching the bank on the left, he sank upon the ground and covered his face with his hands.