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He put the sharp pointagainst the buffalo hide at a place about the height of aman, and next to the scantling on the left. Then hepressed upon the blade, and endeavored to cut throughthe skin. It was no easy task. Buffalo hide is heavyand tough, but he gradually made a small slit, withoutnoise, and then, resting his hand and arm, lookedthrough it.
Phil saw little definite, only a confused mass of headsand bodies, the light of torches gleaming beyond them, and close by, almost against his eyes, a thatch of hair.That hair was brown and curling slightly, such hair asnever grew on the head of an Indian. It could clothe thehead of Bill Breakstone and none other. Phil's heartthrobbed once more. Courage and decision had wonagain. He put his mouth to the slit and whispered softly:
"Bill! Bill! Don't move! It is I, Phil Bedford!"
The thatch of brown hair, curling slightly at the ends, turned gently, and back came the whisper, so soft that itcould not have been heard more than a foot away:
"Phil, good old Phil! You've come for me! Imight have known it!"
"Are they still looking at the dance?"
"Yes, they can't keep their eyes off it."
"Then now is your only chance. You must get out ofthis medicine lodge, and I will help you. I'm going tocut through the buffalo hide low down, then you muststoop and push your way out at the slash, when they'renot looking."
"All right," said Bill Breakstone, and Phil detectedthe thrill of joy in his tone. Phil stooped and bearinghard upon the knife, cut a slash through the hide fromthe height of his waist to the ground.
"Now, Bill," he whispered, "when you think thetime has come, press through."
"All right," again came the answer with that leapingtone in it.
Phil put the knife back in its scabbard, and, pressingclosely against the hide beside the slash, waited. Billdid not come. A minute, another, and a third passed.He heard the monotonous whistling, the steady chant, and the ceaseless beat of the dancer's feet, but Breakstonemade no sound. Once more he pressed his lips to theslit, and said in the softest of tones:
"Are you coming, Bill?"
No answer, and again he waited interminable minutes.Then the lips of the buffalo skin parted, and a shoulderappeared at the opening. It was thrust farther, and ahead and face, the head and face of Bill Breakstone, followed. Then he slipped entirely out, and the toughbuffalo hide closed up behind him. Phil seized hishand, and the two palms closed in a strong grasp.
"I had to wait until nobody was looking my way,"whispered Breakstone, "and then it was necessary tomake it a kind of sleight-of-hand performance. I slippedthrough so quick that any one looking could only see theplace where I had been."
Then he added in tones of irrepressible admiration:
"It was well done, it was nobly done, it was grandlydone, Sir Philip of the Night and the Knife."
"Hark to that!" said Phil, "they miss you already!"
A shout, sharp, shrill, wholly different from all theother sounds, came from within the great medicine lodge.It was the signal of alarm. It was not repeated, and thewhistling and wailing went on, but Phil and Breakstoneknew that warriors would be out in an instant, seekingthe lost captive.
"We must run for it," whispered Breakstone, as theystood among the trees.
"It's too late," said Phil. Warriors with torcheshad already appeared at either end of the grove, but thelight did not yet reach where the two stood in the thickdarkness, with the gentle rain sifting through the leavesupon them. Phil saw no chance to escape, because thelight of the torches reached into the river bed, and then, like lightning, the idea came to him.
"Look over your head, Bill," he said. "You standunder an Indian platform for the dead, and I underanother! Jump up on yours and lie down between themummies, and I'll do the same here. Take this pistolfor the last crisis, if it should come!"
He thrust his pistol into his companion's hand, seizeda bough, and drew himself up. Bill Breakstone wasquick of comprehension, and in an instant he didlikewise. Two bodies tightly wrapped in deerskin wereabout three feet apart, and Phil, not without a shudder, lay down between them. Bill Breakstone on hisplatform did the same. They were completely hidden, butthe soft rain seeped through the trees and fell upon theirfaces. Phil stretched his rifle by his side and scarcelybreathed.
The medicine dance continued unbroken inside.Okapa, greatest shaman of the Comanches, still stood inthe ring watching the circling twelve. The symbols andhieroglyphics painted on his naked body gleamed ruddilyin the light of the torches, but the war chief, BlackPanther, and the other great war
chief, Santana, had goneforth with many good warriors. The single cry hadwarned them. Sharp eyes had quickly detected the slitin the wall of buffalo skin, and even the littlest Indianboy knew that this was the door by which the captivehad passed. He knew, too, that he must have had aconfederate who had helped from the outside, but the warriorswere sure that they could yet retake the captive and hisfriend also.