"
"Not on your life," I protested. "You might run into most any kind of
formation. We'll go in a bunch, if we go at all."
"Might be Injuns," Bruce Haggin put in. "An', anyhow, whatever play
comes up, four men's a heap better'n one. If you're bound t' mix in,
why, lead the way. I'm kinda curious about what's down there m'self."
So near to the post it was that MacRae almost knew the feel of the
ground underfoot. He led us a hundred yards along the rim of the bank
and stopped again.
"This is as good a place as any, but you'll have to get down and lead
your horses," he warned. "It's a devil of a scramble from here to the
bottom."
We dismounted, and speedily found that MacRae hadn't exaggerated the
evil qualities of that descent. If there had been boulders on that
hillside the noise of our coming would have alarmed a deaf man; but the
soft dirt and slippery grass gave out no sound, though we slid and
tumbled and dug in our heels for a foothold till the sweat streamed down
our cheeks.
At the bottom we mounted again and followed MacRae in a cautious file
around clumps of willow and rustling quaking-asp to the place where the
blaze should have shown. But no glint of fire appeared in any direction;
the coulee-bottom lay more dark and silent, if that were possible, than
the gloomy hills above.
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