Before they could reach the projecting point, the savages had got up, and were clustering around it.

At least a score, with spears couched, bows bent, and clubs brandishing, stood ready to receive them.
It was a gauntlet the pursued men might well despair of being able to run.

Truly now seemed their retreat cut off, and surely did death appear to stare them in the face.
"We must die, Walt," said the young prairie merchant, as he faced despairingly toward his companion.
"Maybe not yet," answered Wilder, as with a searching glance, he directed his eye along the facade of the cliff.
The red sandstone rose rugged and frowning, full five hundred feet overhead.

To the superficial glance it seemed to forbid all chance either of being scaled, or affording concealment.

There was not even a boulder below, behind which they might find a momentary shelter from the shafts of the pursuers.