e moment I caught sight of him, and sat making a hurried
reconnaissance. As yet he had neither seen nor heard me. His back was
to me, and he appeared to be gazing intently towards the west. Beside
the rock on which he was, his spear was sticking in the ground, and his
shield, bow, and quiver were leaning against it. I could see upon his
person the sparkle of a knife and tomahawk.

I have said my reconnaissance was a hurried one. I was conscious of the
value of every moment, and almost at a glance I formed my resolution.
That was, to "run the gauntlet," and attempt passing before the Indian
could descend to intercept me. Obedient to this impulse, I gave my
animal the signal to move forward.

I rode slowly and cautiously, for two reasons: because my horse dared
not go otherwise; and I thought that, by riding quietly, I might get
beyond the vidette without attracting his notice. The torrent was
hissing below. Its roar ascended to the cliff; it might drown the sound
of the hoof-strokes.

With this hope I stole onward. My eye passed rapidly from one to the
other; from the savage on the cliff to the perilous path along which my
horse crawled, shivering with affright.

When I had advanced about six lengths upon the ledge, the platform came
in view, and with it a group of objects that caused me to reach suddenly
forward and grasp the forelock of my Moro--a sign by which, in the
absence of a bit, I could always halt him. He came at once to a stand,
and I surveyed the objects before me with a feeling of despair.

They were two horses, mustangs; and a man, an Indian. The mustangs,
bridled and saddled, were standing quietly out upon the platform; and a
lasso, tied to the bit-ring of one of them, was coiled around the wrist
of the Indian. The latter was sitting upon his hams, close up to the
cliff, so that his back touched the rock. His arms lay horizontally
across his knees, and upon these his head rested. I saw that he was
asleep. Beside him were his bow and quiver, his lance and shield, all
leaning against the cliff.

My situation was a terrible one. I knew that I could not pass him
without being heard, and I knew that pass him I must. In fact, I could
not have gone back had I wished it; for I had already entered upon the
ledge, and was riding along a narrow shelf where my horse could not
possibly have turned himself.

All at once, the idea entered my mind that I might slip to the ground,
steal forward, a