excitement and action; you had no time to
think. It was a hundred times worse for us down below here."

"Indeed?" said Chris half mockingly.

"Yes, indeed. I tell you, my lad, I never passed such a bad half-hour
before in my life. We could see every movement, except when you
galloped out of sight. It all stood out like a picture against the
clear morning sky, while there we were nearly all the time, afraid to
shoot because we were more likely to hit you than the enemy. My word, I
felt bad enough, but it was just horrible for the doctor."

"Poor father!" said Chris.

"You may well say that, my lad. P'r'aps you don't know it, but he
thinks a deal of you, my lad."

"Why, of course," cried Chris.

"Very foolish of him, I suppose, but then he don't know you so well as I
do. He's prejudiced, you see."

"I suppose so," said Chris.

"My word, he did take on when he saw the mustang come over the cliff and
drag you after it!"

"Don't talk about it," cried Chris with a shudder.

"Why not? I think it was very fine now. We were a bit worried at
first, and the doctor couldn't shoot at all for some time; but as soon
as we heard you begin to pop and the redskins came down, we nearly went
mad with joy. I saw, though he didn't say much out loud, but I just
caught sight of his lips moving now and then; and the way he shot
afterwards--I don't believe he made a miss. I say, the redskins were
soon tired of showing their faces over the edge of the cliff. But, my
word, Chris, lad, you had a narrow escape!"

"Several," said Chris, smiling.

"Ah! Yes! You ought to have been killed with the arrows."

"Ought I?"

"Yes, that you ought. Those fellows shoot very straight, and send those
thin splints of wood with tremendous force."

"They do," sighed Chris. "My poor mustang!"

"Ah! Poor plucky little thing; he nearly killed you too."

"In his agony, poor creature. He was shot savagely."

"Ah! Yes. Seems rather hard on him--a horse to be shot by means of a
horse."

"I don't understand you," said Chris, staring.

"No? Don't you know what some of their bows are?"

"Oh, you mean the strings. Made out of twisted gut, perhaps."

"That's quite right, my lad, but not what I meant. I meant the bows
themselves."

"Some very tough wood, I suppose, like the yew with which the English
used to make bows."

"Nay. Lots of them are made of horses' or buffaloes' ribs. They're
handy and short and tough. You know