That afternoon I
should go just as far as I thought I could, and get back to camp by
dark.
To my disappointment, when I reached the top of the ridge I still
could not see the river, for it disappeared between high, rocky
banks, and could only be seen by walking close to the edge. I
decided to go along the ridge as far as I could, and then, slipping
down to the river, to return to camp that way. About two miles out
on the ridge I sat down to rest and look about a little. The rain
passed, and a fine breeze put the flies to rout at this highest
point.
I had been seated there but a little while when, looking back, I
saw one of the men, which proved to be George, running as if for
life along the top of the ridge where they had first seen me. I
could just make him out against the sky. Then he disappeared, I
could not tell where.
After a time I began to hear shots. The sounds were very faint,
but followed each other in quick succession. I laughed, and
thought I knew what was happening where they came from. The shots
seemed to come from the ridge I was on; but for some time I could
not see any one.
