A BLIND GUIDE 161 



return. It was the first time that they had 

 gone to their prospect hole unarmed. Usually, 

 one had worked while the other watched, with 

 rifles at hand. 



There appeared to be a flattened form, on the 

 edge of the spruce forest, crawling up through 

 the grass of the meadow. While pretending to 

 be examining the rope Crandall saw other 

 forms each covered with grass and all slowly 

 making their way toward them. 



It was an ideal autumn day. The tapping of 

 a woodpecker and the angry scolding of a Fre- 

 mont squirrel were the only sounds in that 

 primeval scene. The shadow of a cloud drifted 

 leisurely across the silent, sunny meadow. Na- 

 ture was in repose and apparently everything 

 was serene. 



The Blackfeet had surprised them. Crandall 

 spoke to his partner in the bottom of the hole as 

 though Indians were not discovered, and ham- 

 mered away on the windlass while the partner 

 climbed out. Then both made a dash for the 

 woods, the cabin, and their rifles, less than a 

 quarter of a mile away. Instantly, scores of 

 Indians leaped up out of the grass and closed 

 in on them in a small, almost complete circle. 

 The cabin and rifles were never reached. 



Five of the best Indian runners had been sta- 

 tioned in the edge of the woods between the 



