miracle, and they were cautious of again tempting fate. They determined
that for some time yet they would not venture out upon the ledge, but
keep inside the grotto that had given them such well-timed shelter.
Some sulky savage, disappointed at not getting their scalps, might take
it into his head to return and hurl down into the hole another shower of
stones. Such a whim was probable to a prairie Indian.

Cautious against all like contingencies, the guide counselled his
younger companion to patience, and for a considerable time they remained
without stirring out of their obscure chamber.

At length, however, perceiving that the tranquillity continued, they no
longer deemed it rash to make a reconnoissance; and for this purpose
Walt Wilder crawled out upon the ledge and looked upward. A feeling of
surprise, mingled with apprehension, at once seized upon him.

"Kin it be night?" he asked, whispering the words back into the grotto.

"Not yet, I should think?" answered Hamersley. "The fight was begun
before daybreak. The day can't all have passed yet. But why do you
ask, Walt?"

"Because thar's no light comin' from above. Whar's the bit o' blue sky
we seed? Thar ain't the breadth o' a hand visible. It can't a be the
smoke as hides it. That seems most cleared off. Darned if I can see a
steim o' the sky. 'Bove as below, everything's as black as the ten o'
spades. What kin it mean?"

Without waiting a reply, or staying for his companion to come out upon
the ledge, Wilder rose to his feet, and, grasping the projecting points
above his head, commenced swarming up the shaft, in a similar manner as
that by which he had made the descent.

Hamersley, who by this time had crept out of the grotto, stood upon the
ledge listening.

He could hear his comrade as he scrambled up; the rasping of his feet
against the rocks, and his stentorian breathing.

At length Walt appeared to have reached the top, when Hamersley heard
words that sent a thrill of horror throughout his whole frame.

"Oh!" cried the guide, in his surprise, forgetting to subdue the tone of
his voice, "they've built us up! Thar's a stone over the mouth o' the
hole--shettin' it like a pot lid. A stone--a rock that no mortal ked
move. Frank Hamersley, it's all over wi' us; we're buried alive!"

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

A SAVAGE SATURNAL.

Only for a short while had Wilder's trick held the pursuers in check.
Habituated to such wiles, the Indians,