He did not desire a fight; he might think the chances
would be with his party, as only two of the Indians had rifles, but then
if even one of their own party were kicked over it would be a sad
disaster.
The lad meditated some little time and studied the conditions. He
crawled into his crevice, and, lo, he saw a lateral breakaway. He might
gain Creedon's berth, as he called it, without chancing an outside
steal. Fortune favored him; Creedon's crevice was one of several rents
in the rock, and he managed to reach the sleeper's foot, and he
cautiously touched it, fearing at the moment that Creedon in his
surprise might make an outcry or an inquiry in a loud tone, but here he
learned a lesson in woodcraft. Creedon did not make an outcry; he awoke
and cautiously investigated, and soon discovered that Desmond had
touched him and was seeking to communicate with him. He demanded in a
whisper:
"What is it, lad?"
"There are Indians in the gulch."
"Aha! where?"
"Down where we were camped last night."
"You keep low and I will take a peep."
Desmond could afford to let Creedon take a peep. The woodsman did peep
and took in the situation, and he said:
"You are smaller than I am; does the rent where you are run to the berth
where Brooks is sleeping?"
"It may; I will find out and go slow; we don't want a fight if we can
help it, but we've got the dead bulge on those redskins if we have to
fight.
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