minutely what to do, in case we were attacked.

For miles we strained our eyes, looking in the direction whence
these men had come.

At last, in mid-afternoon, we approached the Pass, a narrow
defile winding down between high hills from this table-land to
the plain below. To say that we feared an ambush, would not
perhaps convey a very clear idea of how I felt on entering the
Pass.

There was not a word spoken. I obeyed orders, and lay down in the
bottom of the ambulance; I took my derringer out of the holster
and cocked it. I looked at my little boy lying helpless there
beside me, and at his delicate temples, lined with thin blue
veins, and wondered if I could follow out the instructions I had
received: for Jack had said, after the decision was made, to go
through the Pass, "Now, Mattie, I don't think for a minute that
there are any Injuns in that Pass, and you must not be afraid. We
have got to go through it any way; but"--he hesitated,--"we may
be mistaken; there may be a few of them in there, and they'll
have a mighty good chance to get in a shot or two. And now
listen: if I'm hit, you'll know what to do. You have your
derringer; and when you see that there is no help for it, if they
get away with the whole outfit, why, there's only one thing to be
done. Don't let them get the baby, for they will carry you both
off and--well, you know the squaws are much more cruel than the
bucks. Don't let them get either of you alive. Now"--to the
driver--"go on."